Broken Serenade
by Dydear
Summary: Bella is scarred by an event that changed her life years previously. After seven years with no word from Edward, a Christmas card arrives that causes her to leave for Forks, and changes everything she thought she knew about her past, present, and future.
1. Chapter 1

_My name is Isabella Marie Swan. _

_I am damaged. _

_I didn't use to be. I used to be that girl who loved literature and music and romantic movies on the Hallmark channel. Now I just try to get through each day without hurting myself—or someone I love. It all started with a boy—isn't that always the case? I met him when I was seventeen years old. I'd agreed to stay with my dad over the course of two school years while my mom and Phil traveled with his minor league baseball team. I was hesitant to go but anxious to please all of the parental units around me, so I went, a suitcase full of books in tow._

_I've tried over and over again to write down those moments in between arriving in Forks and when my life fell apart, but somehow all I can derive from that point in my life is pain and heartache. Realistically, I know there must have been a few happy times, but I have some sort of mental block that won't let me remember them. Like I said: damaged._

_My therapist thought that writing in this journal would help unlock the good memories, and maybe make me less crazy, less deranged. I want to be happy again, but the gravity of what I've done is a constant weight on my chest. I keep thinking that no one will forgive me–ever._

* * *

I changed my mind fifty some-odd times since I'd received his invitation. It was a beautiful thing, embossed in gold with a royal blue satin liner and thick card stock. The card must have cost him at least $5.00 to send in the mail—leave it to a Cullen to pick the most extravagant Christmas card. The arrival of it, though, shocked me. I never thought I'd hear from him again, not with the way we had parted. I didn't think he would ever want to give me another thought: the girl who'd broken his heart and wrecked his life.

I'd checked the mail myself for once. For a normal twenty-five year old, that statement would seem perfectly normal – but I am far, far removed from anything resembling normal. Usually, Renee or Phil would grab it first, but this time I caught it just as the mail carrier was dropping it off. The weather was a warm 72 degrees, perfectly common for a Florida winter. I'd been sitting on the front porch swing, enjoying the last lazy rays of the sun's warmth and reading a book when the mail arrived.

There really wasn't anything special about the day, nothing that would normally cause me to even pause or notice any of the goings on around me, but on this day, I did. I put down the book I had been previously engrossed in two seconds before and walked straight to the mailbox, even before the lady had finished sorting through the stacks of our mail.

"Hello, you must be Bella."

I nodded, stupidly.

"Your step-dad talks about you non-stop to my husband—he's also on the team."

"Oh," I mumbled, struggling to make simple conversation. It wasn't surprising. I'd barely spoken to anyone in months, much less tried to make small talk with a virtual stranger. "Small world." I ended up spouting.

The mail carrier smiled at me sympathetically, knowingly, and it made me want to dig a hole right there and bury myself. Of course she knew. Everyone in this small town knew about poor, depressed, suicidal Bella. I dropped the smile and took the offered mail, mumbling a curt, "Thank you," as I headed back toward the safety of the house, my porch swing and my book.

I let out a long breath and sighed, letting the letters and bills fall in a heap beside me, thankful to be alone again and shocked at my own sudden, spontaneous behavior. Something in the pile flashed in the sunlight, sparkling and eye catching. A familiar name was printed on a large, crisp, white foil letters. For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. Months of therapy and pills had assured me that this time, it was not fantasy, and I tore open the letter, my heart pressed tightly into my throat. It went into overdrive as I quickly ripped open the beautiful heavy paper, suddenly desperate to see what he'd sent.

_After seven years with no word, why would he suddenly send something now?_

I wanted to savor every printed word on the front of the generic, though expensive, greeting card, but my eyes immediately became transfixed on the writing inside.

"Bella, I miss you. They tell me I should give up, but I just can't. Please, please meet with me. I've waited for you every Christmas Eve since you left. You know the spot. I sometimes think I'll wait for you forever. I love you, Bella. Nothing that's happened between us will ever change that. I've enclosed another ticket. I suppose I'm just hoping that one day, you'll use it and come back to us.

Love Always,

Edward."

It was at that moment that Renee walked through the door.

"Bella, I have dinner rea—oh the mail came?"

She must have noticed the way I clutched the card between white-knuckled fingers, must have noticed the way my hands trembled, because her tone changed suddenly from nonchalant to fearful.

"Bella? What's that you're holding?"

I was never one for dramatics, but at that moment, I threw the biggest tantrum of my life.

"Ed-ward has been writing to me?"

I struggled to say his name aloud, the mere thought of it tore a new hole in my already battered heart.

"Why didn't you tell me? What gives you the right to keep this from me? Every year?"

"Honey, it was for your own good. You were healing, and we thought it best—"

"You thought it best? You mean you decided to make that decision for me!" I was screaming now, not even caring about the tears streaming down my face or my runny nose or the neighbors that were watching curiously from the other side of their perfect little white-picket fence.

"Bella, this is not the time or the place. I'm going to make you some nice calming herbal tea."

"Why, so you can drug me and keep me locked up in my room?"

"Bella, this isn't necessary. Come with me. Now!" If her voice didn't say it, her eyes did. Renee had had enough, and she wasn't about to back down. I, however, was past caring. I jerked my arm out of Renee's, and ran down the street past Phil who was pulling into the driveway, in the direction of the nearest bus stop.

"Phil, stop her!" I could hear my mom screaming from the front door. Phil ran up to me and lightly grabbed my arm; I stopped in defeat. There was no way I would be able to run the fifteen miles to the bus station and then get to the airport with no money and no plan. What he did next surprised me.

"Bella, honey..." He looked between me with my sopping wet face and Renee, both hands covering her mouth. She looked relieved that Phil had stopped me, and I was aware she was just as upset about this turn of events as I was. I was always making my mom cry.

"Honey, go pack some bags. I'll drive you to the airport in thirty minutes."

I could feel the blood draining from my face as I heard Renee shout out, "NO!"

I packed, but I wasn't sure what I put in my large suitcase. I tried to block out the sounds of Phil and Renee fighting at the other end of the house. My heart was a resounding jackhammer in my ears.

_Edward._

Why would he want to see me? Why would any of them want to see me? After the way I'd left things...I'd destroyed them. I'd torn apart his family and then left in the middle of the night without so much as a forwarding address. The look on Charlie's face when I'd walked out the door – I shook my head forcefully, but it wouldn't erase the images of the disappointment I saw in my father's eyes that night. Would Charlie want to see me?

My eyes filled with tears as I threw random articles of clothing into my bag until my drawers were completely empty and my closet barren. I didn't have much in the way of clothing, but that was the least of my concerns. I was going to see Edward. He wanted to see me! He still loves me! But why?

I could hear bits and pieces of yelling, and it was closer now.

"She will never forgive you!"

"You don't know what's best for her, I'm her mother!"

"You haven't given her a chance to choose any of this!"

"I can't allow you to take her from me!"

"She's a grown woman!"

"She's sick!"

I immediately grabbed my headphones and iPod, a Christmas gift from Phil last year when I'd finally been able to stomach music again, and placed them over my ears, turning the volume on full blast. Heavy metal was never my favorite before. Ever since my "difficulty," it had become a God-send. That's how Renee referred to my life-changing event: my "Difficult Time." It was generic enough to not be too personal but still had the same effect as burning acid running through my veins.

My "difficulty" as she put it was what made me this...this barely living person once called Bella. I'd spent months on suicide watch, filled with enough pills to start my own pharmacy, taken to every acupuncturist, therapist, and hippy-psychiatrist in the state of Florida. Finally, I'd come out of it on my own, though not completely. I just got tired of hearing Renee cry and seeing the strain I put on everyone around me. Now I hide most of it – but some scars won't fade, no matter how much time passes.

I ran my hands under my top, above the line of my jeans. I could feel every little ridge and indent: proof that it was real. It made me feel better and worse all at once. The stretch marks have faded some, and I used to be terrified that I'd wake up one day and they'd be gone completely, but now I'm positive they are not going anywhere. Renee offered to give me some cocoa butter for them once, and I'd snapped at her and flung it into the trash can. She never mentioned it again.

I heard a door slam. Phil knocked softly in his irritating, endearing way, and I jerked my hand away, afraid that I was doing something wrong, embarrassed to be losing myself in a memory that I was told over and over didn't really mean anything. I had to keep telling myself that as well. The last thing I wanted was to get lost in that desperate heartache again. I knew for certain if I fell into another depression that deep, I wouldn't be able to find my way back.

_But Edward still loves me. How can he?_

Phil poked his head around the door, his cheeks and the tops of his ears red with anger, though his voice didn't show it. "Hey, kiddo. You ready to go?"

"What about Mom?" I pushed the headphones down around my neck and felt wetness on my cheeks. Does the crying never stop?

"Yeah, well. Your mom is just afraid for you, you know? She doesn't want to lose you again."

He sat down beside me and put his arm around me. I gratefully leaned into his strong embrace.

"Promise me something, okay, Bella?" he said, his voice as serious as I've ever heard it. "Promise that you won't go there again, that you won't get like you were before. Okay?"

"You mean you want me to promise that I won't try to off myself again?"

Phil winced and then squeezed me tighter. "Yeah. No matter what this guy put you through, or what happens when you get there, I need to know you'll come back here and still be you."

I wanted to point out that I hadn't been me for seven years, not since that first day that I met the devastatingly handsome and talented Edward Cullen, but I couldn't. Phil would'nt understand. It had been so long since he or Mom had been around a completely healthy and happy Bella, how could he understand? So I did all I could do and nodded into his scratchy jacket, hoping he accepted my feeble promise.

"Okay, Bells." He stood up and jerked my bag onto his shoulder like it didn't contain everything I owned. "You ready?"

Suddenly, I didn't feel ready. I felt sick. It would be so much easier to stay here and write Edward a letter rather than see him in person. What would I say to him? I was pretty sure whatever I said would include a lot of whimpering and crying. I imagined myself pleading at his feet, begging his forgiveness while his family looked on in disdain.

_Deep breaths, Bella. Nothing happens from standing still. He still loves you, that must account for something..._

But why would he?

I asked myself that the entire ride to the airport, in the baggage line as I mechanically dropped my bag into a plastic bin and removed my shoes, the entire plane ride and two-hour layover, and then once again as I walked out from the runway into the Seattle airport terminal.

Charlie was standing there as I rounded the corner, looking ever so much the noble police chief of Forks. Phil told me he'd call Charlie to make sure I wasn't alone at the airport. My dad had more gray around his temples, and I was sure that was because of me. I hesitated for a moment, but then he did something I didn't expect: he held his arms open for me. I ran into them like the lost little girl I'd become. He held me while I cried and begged his forgiveness right there in the middle of the crowded airport. My dad, who usually wasn't a fan of public affection, held me close and kissed the top of my head and acted like he didn't even care that people were around, making me wonder why I'd stayed away for so long.

Right, Renee thought it would be best if I'd stayed far away from this state.

"Shh, Bells, honey..." His voice cracked and it struck a nerve, making me sob harder. "It's okay, baby. Come on, let's get your bags and go home."

I dried my eyes and nodded, following him around the airport on numb legs. It had been a long time since I'd allowed myself to cry openly. It felt almost therapeutic.

The ride home was mostly silent, though Charlie insisted on holding my hand the whole way, ignoring his "General Safety in Driving Rules". It made me smile. How odd that my dad would end up becoming the nurturing one. It was a total reverse in rolls from when I was a kid. I'd probably worn Renee down, though. Maybe she'd still be her old self if I hadn't put her through so much hell. I guess I wore down her hug reserves. I'd have to make a point to be more loving to her when I got back – though I'm still pissed that she kept Edward's cards from me each year. Why would she do that?

When they pulled up to the old white clapboard house, a flood of memories overtook me: small, old-fashioned, laid-back Christmases and snow, waiting seemingly forever to get the decrepit computer to log on, countless quiet evenings in front of the TV lost in my own thoughts. First date. First kiss...

I let out a heavy breath, knowing from long months of self-deprecation that I had to curb my thoughts there: this was not the time to get lost in memories of what was. It hadn't occurred to me until just now that maybe this trip was going to be my time to heal, a time to forgive myself and hopefully gain forgiveness from others. I couldn't live forever in my past, wishing I'd changed all of my decisions. Still, the biting ache of what could have been would always haunt me, and it was never more prevalent than it was at that moment, as I looked up at my father's house, through the haze of winshield glass.

"You okay, Bells?"

I hadn't noticed he was holding the door open for me, and I said a quick, "Sorry" as I stepped out, remembering to be careful on the ice and snow.

"We're going to have to get you some warmer gear soon, or you'll freeze to death. How does a trip to Newton's sound?"

It sounded dreadful, but I nodded anyway. The last thing I wanted to do was see old classmates who knew all about my "difficulties" and try to make awkward conversation with them anyway.

"So..." He dropped my bag on the couch, and I rubbed my hands up and down my arms to get warm again. I could tell he was hedging around something by the long pause before he continued. "Phil told me you were going to meet up with Edward while you were here."

I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and panic eking its way into my chest.

"Yes? Maybe? I don't know. I don't know why he'd want to see me after...I don't know. Maybe." I realized I was babbling and picked up my bag, scrambling to distract him from the conversation.

"I guess I'll take this up to my room and rest a little. The plane ride took a lot out of me." I started to drag my heavy bag across the living room floor, wondering how Phil and Charlie had carried it around so effortlessly.

"Bells, how much do you know?"

I stopped a moment.

"What do you mean?"

Charlie sighed and ran a hand through his thick, salt and pepper hair.

"Nothing, Bells. I'll have something for you to eat when you get up. You're too thin."

I wanted to laugh, but he hadn't said it as a joke, more as a concerned father who was worried about his kid.

"Okay. See you."

I spent twenty minutes in my room, studying everything, amazed at how it could look exactly the same as it did when I'd left it, right down to the pencil I'd last used to do my final math homework at Forks High, which lay placed precariously on the corner of my desk. It was eerie, like the way a parent who'd lost a child would leave their room, afraid that if they moved something, it would somehow tarnish the memory. I suddenly realized that reasoning wasn't far from the truth: there were a couple of times he has almost lost his little girl.

I cried myself to sleep, hoping and praying that I would get a chance to do better this time – to make him proud of me.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! I'm always extremely nervous to put my writing "out there" where others can see it! ACK! Writing this, so far, has been very therapeutic, so I decided it might be worth sharing.

This chapter was edited by Project Team Betas, Mel/ccmcc101180 and Twilightmom505, who are amazing and kind and wonderful. :) Any errors are clearly my fault and not theirs.

Also, I do have a definite direction with this story, which is exciting!


	2. I Can Barely Say

I own nothing of Twilight and will make no money from this story. **insert sad face **The content apart from characters and setting is my own. No copyright infrigement is intended. .

This chapter was beta'd by the lovely BellaDuJour and bigblueboat. Any mistakes made prior to their "grooming" are my own.

Thank you for the lovely reviews. I appreciate them so, so much! The next chapter is "in the works." ;) Let me know what you think and leave a review!

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I awoke the next day, my eyes feeling like they had been glued shut. I rubbed at them with my palms, groggily aware that my surroundings weren't quite right. I could hear a deep voice speaking in the distance, the words muffled by space and the closed door of my room. I realized I was at my dad's home when I registered the window being in the wrong place and felt the cold seeping in through my thin nightclothes. Snippets of a one-sided conversation reached me though my door. I figured Charlie must be on a cell phone in his room. I smiled at the idea of my dad finally embracing modern technology.

The alarm clock beside my bed read 8 A.M. I snuggled deeper under the covers and let out a long breath, a wave of anxiety and fear washing over me. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. "One more sleep," as Charlie liked to say. Edward expected me to meet him at our meadow, which was probably frozen over and covered in snow. .

I turned to look out the window. Through the thickly frosted glass, I could see the soft flakes descending; they would continue to cover everything beneath them, transforming the world in a blanket of serenity and peace, making everything new. I wished it could be the same for me.

"I know it's not going to be easy."

I heard Charlie's voice approaching and closed my eyes quickly the second before I heard my bedroom door open. He had come in to check on me. That was typical behavior from Renee; I didn't expect any less from my dad. Still, as it had seemed an intrusion before, now it was comforting.

"Have you spoken to Edward lately?" Charlie asked softly.

At the mention of _his_ name, I held my breath.

"Yeah, this is something that'll have to be dealt with soon."

I wondered who Charlie was talking to, and I wished I could hear the other half of the conversation. It was obvious I was the one that needed to be "dealt" with. I resisted the strong urge to cover my face with my pillow.

"Yeah. You too. I'll call you when I hear something. Bye."

I lay there for several long moments, trying to breathe deeply, aware how terrible I was at faking anything.

I felt the mattress dip down a little, and my eyes flew open.

"Hey, Bells," Charlie said softly, resting his warm hand on my cold one that lay on top of the covers. "We need to talk."

"Okay." I blanched. Conversations that began with "We need to talk" were never the good kind. I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes some more, drawing my knees up against my chest.

"That was Esme on the phone. Do you know what you're planning on doing tomorrow?" He clearly meant regarding Edward, and I could feel my face fall. I didn't want Charlie to see the pathetic way my eyes were already beginning to tear up, so I lay my forehead on my knees.

"No," was my muffled response and my voice cracked on the word. Charlie sighed.

"Listen, I know this is going to be difficult for you, as much as it is for him, but I think it'll be good for you two to talk. You never got a chance to do that before."

I nodded, the knees of my pajama pants were growing damp from my tears.

"I can't do this." I whispered, more to myself than Charlie.

"Hey, yes you can. Come here." Pulling me to him, he rested his chin on the top of my head and rubbed my back. "I'm proud of you, Bells. I know it was tough for you to come back. You're doing the right thing."

How could he say that? I was a horrible person coming back to the scene of my crime to break Edward's heart all over again.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused you, Dad."

"Hey, you've already apologized, and you're long forgiven." He gave me one last hug and stood up to leave. "I just want you to be happy, Bella. Happy and well," he amended. "Let me know what you want to do about tomorrow. I'll drive you wherever you wanna go. Or you're welcome to drive yourself. I had Jake look at the truck right after Phil called me. It's still a clunker, but it'll get you there."

I smiled slightly and thanked him as he walked away and closed the door behind him. I turned on my lamp and dug through my bag until I found Edward's now slightly damaged card. It occurred to me that I was geographically closer to him than I'd been in years. The thought was neither comforting nor happy. I was terrified.

I fished around in my duffel bag and dragged my battered notebook and a pen out from underneath a pile of wadded clothes, opened it to the next clean page and wrote the first thing that came to mind:

_He wrote that he misses me, that he loves me, but how can he? I've taken far more from him than I've ever given. When we were dating, I often wondered what he saw in me, how someone so perfect would want to be with me. I wasn't much to look at, even less now. _

I stopped writing and ran a hand across my abdomen; the skin was much looser now and permanently marked. I supposed I should think of it as wrecked, but I couldn't find it in me. He would probably think it disgusting, a constant reminder of what could have been—what I could have given him.

I stopped and looked around for tissue, resorting to wiping my eyes and nose with my sleeve. I didn't want to run into Dad in the hallway, and I wasn't ready to leave the solitude of my room. Something about being here again brought back a fresh wave of memories, painfully happy ones.

_I guess this writing thing is working after all._

The very first time I saw him across the lunch room, I remember thinking he had the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. They were green, and not the shade of green that you could sometimes mistake for gray or hazel, but bright green, like a blade of grass in spring. The rims of his irises were a slightly darker shade, and his eyes were framed by thick, dark lashes. It was a crime for a guy to have eyes that pretty.

We ended up in the same Biology class, and since Edward was the only student without a partner, the teacher also made us lab partners. He didn't speak to me the entire class. I wondered why someone who looked like Edward wasn't already paired off with another student—one of the pretty, leggy ones that spent their entire class period trying to get his attention. To be honest, it wasn't just his eyes that were beautiful.

When the last bell rang, I leaned down to get my book bag and my jacket when I realized the latter was missing.

"Bella?"

I turned around to find Edward holding it out for me, like some dashing gentleman in a Victorian drama. I fidgeted, not sure what to do with myself. I could feel several girls' leering eyes directed at my back. My face was hot, and I knew I was probably glowing a very bright shade of red, so I conceded.

"You really don't have to do that. Thanks"

"Do you like music?"

The question caught me off guard, and I nodded, trying not to meet those gorgeous green eyes. Back then, I'd liked a lot of different styles of music. As it turned out, so did Edward. He invited me to his family's home, where we listened to his extensive CD collection for hours. That became our unofficial first date. After that, we were inseparable, much to the chagrin of his family, Charlie, and every girl at Forks High School.

_I can't remember the last time I listened to anything musical in appreciation. Now, it was just a device to drown out everything around me._

"Bells, company!"

My first reaction was panic, which lasted all of the three seconds it took for Jacob Black to run up the steps and practically knock down my door. He barreled into me, knocking me over and sending my pen and journal to the floor. I tried not to touch him with my gross, snot-covered sleeve.

"Jake—is that really necessary?" Charlie was standing in the door frame with his arms crossed, gauging my reaction and trying to be the responsible adult and not laugh.

Jacob laughed, and I felt tears creep up behind my eyes. It had been so long since I'd been around him and his infectious, joyful spirit. Jacob Black was the closest I'd ever come to having a best friend. Our relationship had always been easy, effortless. Our dads were not so secret in their plot to get us together when we were younger, eyeing us happily when we would joke and rough-house. I knew the secret they didn't, though: Jake loved me, but he was in love with someone else, someone he'd known from when he was a kid. He would never tell me her name, but every now and then I'd worm some details from him. I knew that she had shiny black hair and great big, doe eyes — and she was an idiot for not noticing him. Jake was the best person I knew. He would give his last dollar away if he thought someone else needed it more.

"I missed you, Bella!" he practically yelled in my ear. I suddenly realized how big the arms that were holding me actually were.

"Jake," I wheezed, "Your herculean strength is crushing me!" Charlie cracked a smile and made excuses to go fix breakfast before he walked out of the room.

"It's not my fault you've gotten so thin! What are you doing, going for the supermodel look? I'm going to have to make you eat some cheeseburgers before you leave."

"Ha! Ha!" I mocked and smiled at him as he pulled away. Some of his warmth and sunshine stayed with me. "Geez, Jake, what are you doing to yourself? Maybe you should slow down on the steroids!"

"Hey, this is 100%, Grade A, all natural, Quileute, baby!"

I snickered and hit him with my pillow. "You're such a goof!"

"Yeah, I'm the goof that really missed you, Bells." I didn't like the way his tone had suddenly become serious. "Charlie says you don't want to talk about i—"

"I don't," I clipped. Awkward silence followed for several long moments.

"Okay. We don't have to, but you know..." He smiled suddenly, "Seth hasn't stopped mooning over you since you left."

I groaned and smacked him in the arm with my pillow again. "Aw, Jake!"

"He's been writing poems and songs and all the words are the same, 'Bella, Bella, Bella! I miss you, Bella!'" He sang very loudly and off key. The pillow didn't faze him much. I'd have to find something harder for next time.

I laughed and covered my face in my hands. Seth was a kid from the reservation. The boy followed me everywhere when I was younger. Personal boundaries meant nothing to the kid. He'd even followed me into the ladies' bathroom once. Jake used to tease me about him, mercilessly.

It felt nice to laugh again.

I spent the rest of the morning catching up with Jacob, while Charlie looked on happily. For once, things felt normal like they used to be. Peaceful.

When Jake left, I helped Charlie clean up the breakfast dishes and I went upstairs to take a shower. It occurred to me while I was washing my hair that no one had instructed me to do so. At home, I would go days without bathing and not really care. Renee would have to nag and give me ultimatums, usually threatening to have Phil throw me in the bathtub. I wondered what the difference was, being here in Forks. Maybe all I really needed was a good dose of happiness from Jake. It could have saved a lot of money spent on doctors' bills.

I scoffed at myself and thought of my Mom and Phil and all the hell I'd put them through. I hated the way I'd left things. Renee had begged and pleaded, screamed and cried the whole time I walked to the car. The memory of her voice made me cringe. Phil had created a barrier between us with his body the entire way, not even letting her hug me before he closed my door and drove off. For the first time I realized how odd that was. Phil was a good guy who was completely in love with my Mom. He seemed to make it his life goal to make her happy. I don't know what it was that changed so much that day, but I had a horrible, gut-wrenching feeling that I had a hand in it.

For the rest of the day, I couldn't seem to find a purpose; the last of Jake's influence seemed to have washed down the drain with my shampoo. I roamed aimlessly around the house picking up things only to put them right back, pausing every time my line of vision would reach the telephone. I jumped at every bump outside the door, and my hands would not stop shaking. I don't know what I thought I was waiting for... maybe someone from my past to rush in and scream at me, or a large group with pitchforks. Charlie mumbled something about bringing Jake over to spend some more time, but I barely heard him.

I counted down the hours, hyper aware of every pass of the clock hands above the mantel. One more sleep before I had to face Edward.

God help me.


	3. What was Left Undone

I own nothing Twilight related and am making no profit from this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

This chapter was beta'd by Twimarti and Lyta7. Thank you, PTB; I heart you very much!

This story contains talk of suicide.

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The truck engine started with a roar, startling me and making me jump a few inches off my seat. Charlie leaned on the open cab window, attempting to cover a laugh behind a fit of coughing.

"You sure you got everything, Bells?"

I inspected the items beside me. My book bag containing my wallet and notebook were in the passenger seat, along with the phone Charlie had let me borrow.

My hands were shaking, but having them wrapped around the old, trusty steering wheel again made me feel stronger. Other than the flight to Forks, I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone out anywhere on my own — much less driven. I had butterflies in my stomach, but they weren't all of the unpleasant kind. I was trying not to think about meeting with Edward that day; at the moment, I was just reveling in the idea of doing something for myself for once.

"Yep. I think so, " I said with a shaking voice. I felt like a sixteen-year-old going on a trip on my own for the first time.

"Renee would kill me if she knew I was letting you go off alone." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other; I recognized the uncomfortable expression. "Do me a favor. Don't do anything … " He couldn't seem to finish his thought. I placed my hand over his on the open window. "I promise. I'll be okay."

I could promise that with complete confidence. Any other day it might have been a lie, but on this day I woke up feeling something extraordinary that I hadn't felt in a really long time: a tiny but blazing spark of hope. The card that Edward had sent was tucked away in my bag, hidden between the pages of my notebook. Even more than his words of love, the knowledge that he could have possibly forgiven me for my past sins was so incredibly healing. It made me feel stronger. I'd read his words so many times I knew them by heart.

"Drive careful," he said. "If you need anything, Jake or I will come running."

I smiled, and a warmth spread through my chest, knowing he was telling the absolute truth. Charlie took a step back and gave a quick wave, as I put the truck in reverse and backed out of the short driveway.

It felt so strange to be going somewhere completely alone.

I certainly had no plans to tell my mom about this day. After the conversation we'd had earlier, I knew I had to be careful what I divulged about my stay in Forks. She was less than calm on the phone. In fact, on a scale from one to ten, my mom was Kathy Bates from that Stephen King movie, _Misery_. I was still reeling from the uncharacteristic way Renee had reamed into me earlier in the day. I couldn't help but feel guilty for it. If I had been any normal daughter, she wouldn't have seen the need to be so insanely overprotective. The list of demands she left me with were eccentric – even for Renee.

I was already breaking several of her rules by going into town and speaking to anyone other than Charlie, Jake, and Billy. When I informed her of meeting with Edward, she nearly lost it. When she finally realized that I wasn't backing down, she conceded but gave me a script of what I was to say to him. It was odd. I got that she was stressed out; she was worried that something would happen while I was away from her. She didn't want to almost lose me again. I tried to see her demands from her eyes, but it was difficult. For the first time in my life, I didn't understand her. The realization made me very sad — even more so to know that she probably felt the very same way toward me. To know that I'd killed her once beautiful, free, happy spirit was extremely depressing.

By the end of the conversation, I'd promised many things just to make her happy. I did intend on fulfilling her wish that I call my therapist. That was one demand I actually didn't mind keeping. I was actually really looking forward to it. For once, I might have something positive to say.

Alice Whitlock had been my therapist for the last several years. She was young, in her early thirties, but she always looked like a teenager in high school. Instead of starchy suits and heels, Alice was always wearing jean miniskirts and t-shirts with graphic art all over them. I was sure all of her clothes were made by some high-end designer, but I never asked her about that.

I trusted Alice — and she let me talk about the things that Renee never wanted to hear about.

I sighed and focused on the view slowly flying by my side mirrors as I drove begrudgingly toward Newton's Outfitters. The entire town of Forks lay beneath a cascade of endless white; it was still the same town I'd left over seven years ago. Every building and sign and cobblestone was exactly where I'd left it. The only difference I could tell was that the Bait Shop had closed down and a bar was in its place. The library even had the same educational posters in the window. I pulled in to Newton's parking lot all too soon. Charlie had insisted I buy a warmer coat and some winter gear.

Seeking courage from the fact that I recognized none of the cars around me, I grabbed my wallet and walked to the large glass doors. I nearly turned around and went back to my truck when I spotted Mike Newton behind the register. Unfortunately, he saw me before I could run.

"Bella? Bella Swan, no way!" I cringed as my entrance was announced to the entire store. Mike practically threw the change at the customer standing in front of him before he headed in my direction. I braced myself for impact right before he wrapped his long arms around me and squeezed me tightly. The smell of Old Spice and moth balls — the latter was probably from the unpacking of clothes and supplies from the back, hopefully — wafted around me, and I held my breath, smiling politely back at him.

I listened to him prattle on, never giving me a chance to respond. "Wow, look at you! You look good. Have you lost weight? The last time I saw you was... geez... seven years ago?" He blushed slightly and scratched the back of his neck. "What have you been up to? Um... are... are you seeing anyone?"

I took a full step back. I hadn't forgotten how uncomfortable Mike made me, which was part of the reason I'd been dreading coming here.

"Hey, Mike. Yeah... it's been a long time. Uh... I was just... in here looking for some warm, I mean, cold weather... stuff." I did my best to smile. It was fake, but I doubted Mike noticed.

"Yeah, okay. Take your time, look around – or I can show you some stuff." He started to follow me toward the racks of clothes, when a customer heralded him over to the register.

I breathed a long sigh of relief and looked over the coats quickly, choosing the first thing in my size. I did the same for the boots, gloves, and a hat. Anxious, I walked over to the register to check out before Mike was finished with his customer.

"Wow," he said incredulously. "That was fast! Are you sure you're done? Don't you need to look at every single thing in the store before you decide what you want? Isn't that usually how girls shop?"

"Um... no, this is good." I grabbed two twenties from my bag, chagrined that it wasn't my money I was spending. Phil had left me at the airport with a couple hundred dollars, and Charlie had given me money that morning to buy clothes. I had decided once I got through the holidays I was going to get a job somewhere — not at Newton's.

Mike gave my palm a lingering touch as he handed me my change. I fought to not wipe my hand on my jeans.

"If you're not doing anything tonight, you wanna —"

His question was cut off by another familiar voice walking up behind me.

"Bella, wow!" Jessica Stanley. I turned around to quickly remove myself from the conversation with Mike and was taken aback when I saw her. Jessica looked exactly the same as I remembered: long, dark curls, big eyes, sardonic smile — only she now had the largest pregnancy belly I'd ever laid eyes on.

"Yeah, I know... I'm huge. Mike says I'm probably carrying a couple of Newtons around."

_Mike!? The same Mike who started to ask me out two seconds ago? This can't be happening._

I turned back to Mike, incredulous. He just shrugged and gave Jessica a look of disdain. "Come on, Jess. I told you, you're not allowed in here. You're going to scare away all the cute, skinny girls. Right, Bella?"

"Oh, suck it, Michael! I'm only here to get the money you owe me, you bastard! Fork it over, and I'll leave you and all the skinny girls alone."

I took a step away, hoping to extracate myself from the drama, but Jessica turned back to me with acompletely changing demeanor. "So, Bella! God, it's so good to see you! How are you? What have you been up to?"

"Um, not much." I didn't want to tell her that I'd spent month after month living with my mom who still had to make sure I took showers, ate decent meals, and wasn't left unsupervised. I suddenly wished I'd taken Charlie up on the offer to come with me. It would be nice to have someone steer me away from this situation. It had been so long since I'd had to deal with anything on my own in any adult capacity. I was beginning to panic.

"Well, I've been going to school part time. I'm going to become a writer — after I give birth to The Asshole of Forks' kid!" Her voice raised far beyond polite levels and she glared at Mike from across the counter. "My teacher thinks I have real talent. I'm going to put in a resume at the paper soon. You know, there's still only one in this Podunk town."

I nodded, and she kept talking. "Hey... didn't you used to want to be a writer?" I cringed. There was a time in my past when I'd been determined to put my passion for books toward that goal; that felt like a lifetime ago.

"I'll bet you're already some hot-shot novelist, right? Oh! He just kicked! You want to feel it?"

Before I could protest, Jessica shoved my hand onto her swollen belly. I stiffened and tried to move away, but she was adamant I share in her experience.

"Feel that?" I did, and it was making my eyes water.

_Calm, Bella. Don't make a scene right here in front of Jessica Stanley, the biggest gossip in Forks._

"I mean, it's a real miracle, you know? This whole process of creating life. And I just can't wait to hold it, and feed it, and dress it up in cute clothes..."

When I jerked my hand away, Jessica gave me an odd look, so I smiled at her. She was expecting me to comment on all of her happy news.

_Normal people do this kind of thing. This would not affect a normal person. Come on, Bella! _

"That's really great, Jess," I said after too long of a pause. "I'm sure you're going to be a fantastic mom."

Jessica grinned from ear to ear, happy to have received my praise. "I know, well you're probably right. I mean, I'm definitely going to be a better mom than my mom. She keeps trying to give me advice and I'm like, 'Okay, lady, like you have any qualifications as a good parent.' Did you know she almost let me drown once? I swear, they let anyone become a mother."

She grabbed my elbow to drag me toward the door, farther away from the register, where a customer was currently complaining about the quality of a sleeping bag she'd purchased. Forunately, Jessica seemed oblivious to the anxiety her words were causing inside me.

"So, listen... " She brought her head closer to mine and lowered her voice conspiratorially, as if we were in junior high telling secrets. "I know you haven't been here in like, forever, and you probably have no say in any of it, anyway, but I thought I'd ask just to be polite... and,well, since you're here right now..." She seemed to hem and haw a moment while I looked longingly out of the large windows at my old, faded vehicle, wishing I could make a quick getaway.

"Do you care if I ask Edward Cullen out?" Her question caught me completely off guard.

"What?" I was stunned. Was she serious?

"Yeah, I mean... he likes kids." I could feel the pit of my stomach clench and unclench painfully. The blood was quickly rushing from my face. "And not that I'm looking for a replacement for Mike per se, but well, Mike? I guess it would be nice to have a backup, you know?"

I nodded numbly, amazed that I was able to keep the stoic look on my face.

"I mean, it's not like Edward is rich like he used to be, but —"

"How's that?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, as if I was supposed to know what she was talking about. "Oh my goodness, Bella, that's old news. His dad cut him off years ago. He's been making it on his own now. I hear he's staying in a little apartment, just him and —"

"Jessica, you're such an idiot!" Mike chimed in suddenly, startling both Jessica and me. "Cullen is never going to want to have anything to do with you. I don't know why you bother. Besides, he's seeing someone anyway."

I felt as though I'd been punched in the stomach.

I said nothing, but Mike looked at me sympathetically. "Yeah... I can't believe it either. I thought he'd never get over our little Bella." He patted my stomach, and I moved away quickly, but not before earning a wary look from Jessica's big brown eyes. "My mom saw him walking around with his arm around her yesterday — some gorgeous blonde. I never saw what the big deal was with the guy anyway. The guy was a weirdo."

I stood there for several more minutes, trying to calm myself down while Mike and Jessica continued to argue back and forth, oblivious of anyone but themselves. I didn't know why I was surprised. For all he knew, I'd thwarted him for the past seven years. I couldn't expect him to keep waiting forever, could I?

My breath hitched in my throat, and the warmth behind my eyes was beginning to spill over onto my eyelashes. I had to get out of there — quickly.

"Um, hey, guys, it was good to catch up, but Charlie is expecting me back home, so... " I left my sentence unfinished, rushing for the safety of an iron and steel truck cab. Putting the gear in reverse, I peeled away from the store as fast as my ancient truck would go, which was only about fast enough to make loud grating sounds and displace some gravel in the parking lot.

Maybe they were wrong. Gossip around Forks wasn't always known to be accurate. I comforted myself with that fact as I quickly wiped my eyes. That "gorgeous blonde" could have been a cousin or a long-lost relative.

And what if she was his girlfriend? I knew even after receiving his card that that could be a possibility. He'd said he still loved me, but love came in many forms. He wasn't declaring himself; he was offering a hand of forgiveness, of friendship. His card read, "Please come back to us." He was probably speaking not only for himself, but for his family as well. If I was being honest, it made more sense. It didn't make it easier to stomach, though.

I pulled off the main road and into the nearest parking lot, unsure of how to proceed. It was still early in the day; I had plenty of time to get there before the time he'd written inside the card. I could do what I'd intended to begin with: drive to the meadow, meet with Edward, listen with an open mind while he professed his love for someone else — if he even decided to be there. I let out a deep breath, brushing away more tears. Or I could drive around, let Charlie think I'd gone, and give him some lame synopsis of what Edward and I had talked about.

_Yeah, because I am so good at lying._

What I really, deeply, desperately wanted was to crawl into my bed and sleep for days. I wanted to feel nothing — to fall into oblivion. I wanted to just not exist. It wasn't just the idea of Edward moving on without me, but the conversation with Jessica was beginning to play on repeat inside my skull.

_They let anyone be a mother._

_It's a real miracle, you know? This process of creating life._

_I can't wait to hold it and feed it. _

I took one deep breath after another, struggling to regain composure, my head falling against the steering wheel. Another memory took hold, and I wanted to cling to it. My breathing slowed as I remembered the feel of the cold bathtub beneath my skin contrasted with the warmth of the blood that slowly ebbed from my veins. In those darkest moments, I stopped feeling the incessant guilt and pain. I had finally been free.

I forced myself out of my dark revelry. I couldn't go back to that place, no matter how good and peaceful it felt. Mom and Charlie and Phil didn't deserve to go through that again.

I decided to go through with my original plan and drive through the meadow; I was surprised to find I still knew the way. As I approached the parking area, my stomach dropped. His car was nowhere to be found. I sat idling for almost an hour, running out most of my gas, and checking and rechecking my clock and Charlie's cell phone to see if I'd missed any messages. Other than five missed calls from my mom, there was nothing. I was unsure of what to do next. In the end, I decided to just go home.

It was probably better this way.

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I promise, Edward will be in this story at some point. :D Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review.


	4. Broken Glass in Flower Beds

Another chapter! :D I do believe there's something wrong with me, that I'm enjoying writing this so much. I hope you're enjoying reading it!

This chapter was beta'd by Angelz1114577 and EdwardsMate4Ever. Project Team Beta ROCKS!

Please show some love and review!

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I dropped my book bag on a chair in the kitchen. It landed with a thud and fell over, the contents spilling all over the linoleum. Edward's card stood out from the rest of the chaos like a bright blue beacon, taunting me. My heart pounded out an irregular beat, and my breathing was shaky as I fought hard against the tears behind my tired eyes. I was thankful to have the house to myself.

The light in the room dimmed suddenly and I looked out the window to see the sun obscured by thick, grey clouds.

_How fitting._

I stood there for several long moments watching the bleak winter sky, trying to calm myself down, trying to access this new reality.

In the past, Edward had never shied away from difficult situations. He'd met them head on with a maturity that belied his years. I was the exact opposite. I ran from confrontation. I shied away from difficult conversations and situations. When I'd discovered I was pregnant, I ran. I gave Charlie some lame excuse about missing my mom and I jumped on a plane and never looked back. I was a coward in the highest regard.

It was probably for the best that he didn't show up today; I wasn't worth his forgiveness. What was I even doing here? Did I really expect Edward would rush back to me and ignore what I'd done to him? He'd probably changed his mind — he'd probably moved on. Seven years is a very long time to make someone wait.

The sun peeked out slightly behind the mass of grey, and sunlight shone through the streaked window, causing something in the sink to glint for a moment. I moved closer and found the knife lying there, the only utensil in the whole kitchen sitting ominously alone — as if it was just waiting for me to find it.

I shook my head, pushing those thoughts away. It was one of Charlie's hunting knives. He'd probably cleaned it and then left it there accidentally. He was probably thinking about it right about now, wondering if he should have put it away instead of leaving it out in the open for his sad, pathetic, depressed daughter to find.

I could feel myself walking over to it, as if my body was tied to it with invisible strings. I didn't try to fight the pull. It was in my hand before I thought twice about it. I took several long, shaky breaths, feeling strangely calmed by the sudden cold press of metal against my skin.

As soon as the jagged teeth of the metal bit into my skin, I realized that this wasn't about Edward at all. Though his rejection stung, and it was surely the reason behind the heaviness in my heart that I carried home with me on my drive from the meadow, a deeper sorrow had been eating away at me. Guilt from what I'd done — what I'd given up so easily — constantly ate away at my insides until I was nothing but a shell.

I dropped the knife on the floor as a sob escaped from my chest, and I wrapped my arms around my mid-section, I felt my knees hit the hard kitchen floor and the soft trickle of warmth leak from a shallow cut on my wrist.

The pain and guilt of my past sins rang through my head as I tried in vain to hold my tears at bay, tried to hold my hollow insides together. I would never be whole again. It was my own fault.

Seven years and eight months ago, I had met Renee in Florida with tear-filled eyes, begging her to please not be mad at me. She knew what was coming next; I saw it in her face. After years of warnings and lessons about taking precautions, I'd finally failed her. I'd failed everyone.

Renee decided it would be best if we terminated the pregnancy. We could all move on much more quickly. My life wouldn't have to be put on hold.

But as I sat in the waiting room in a surprisingly normal office, surrounded by benign pictures of generic beach scenes and magazines, I could only think of what a combination of Edward and myself would look like in our child. I left before they had a chance to call my name.

My mom had been furious.

"_Bella, what happned to our plan? What happened to going back to school on Monday?"_

"_I'll still go. I'll go for as long as I can. I just—"_

She hadn't wanted to listen, only ranted on and overpowered me. She'd made another appointment at the same office, but I'd defied her and didn't go.

I didn't tell her that, though. I'd hid it until it was too late.

Outside the front door, gravel crunching beneath tires alerted me to Charlie's arrival. I jumped up quickly, threw the knife in the sink. I pulled my sleeve down as hard as I could, making my sweater feel uneven and awkward on my body. He opened the door just as I was drying my eyes. He caught me walking toward the kitchen table. I knew I wasn't hiding my hurt well at all.

"Hey, what's wrong? What happened?" I could hear the "cop voice" in his tone. All business.

I just shook my head and crouched down to the floor, picking up the piles of receipts and papers that had fallen out of my backpack. I was hoping he'd accept that I didn't want to talk right now. I wanted to close myself off in my room with my headphones and I-pod and not think. I wanted to escape and be empty forever, free from the guilt.

"What happened today?" He assumed that I was upset because I'd spoken to Edward.

"Nothing, Dad. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

The sadness that poured from his statement overwhelmed me. I had to pause for a moment and take a deep breath. He was right. I was far from fine, but the worst part of it was how close I'd come to doing it all over again. I'd wanted to end the relentless pain permanently. My chest constricted and I continued gathering up my mess through a blur of tears.

"What did he say, Bells?"

"He... didn't say anything. He wasn't there." I picked myself up and shoved the clutter into my bag, painfully aware that Edward's card was getting battered and crushed in the process. My heart felt the same.

"That doesn't sound like Edward."

I paused and looked up at his familiar brown eyes, bewildered. My dad was not one to make blanket statements; no words came from his mouth unless they were first well-researched and known to be truth. When Edward and I were seeing each other, Charlie didn't want to have anythng to do with him — he didn't trust him — but now he spoke as if he knew Edward's character. It was something I would have been happy about in the past. I'd spent months explaining to Charlie how great a person Edward was. Now, it just seemed odd.

I nodded mutely and turned toward the stairs, holding onto my open book bag with both hands, trying not to lose its contents. I heard Charlie behind me mumbling something about making a phone call. As soon as my door was closed, I slumped down onto the floor and shoved the bag aside, wrapping my arms around myself.

A slight whrring sound caught my attention. It was Charlie's phone, still shoved inside the front pocket of my bag. I picked it up and saw my mother's name on the screen. I punched the call button and held the phone up to my ear.

"Charlie, I cannot believe you've ignored my calls! Is Bella okay? Tell me you hid the pictures like I asked you to! What did Edward say to her?"

My mom. She'd started in on the tirade before I could even say hello.

"Mom?"

"Bella?" I heard silence on the other end of the line, and then my mom stammering, "I... I thought you'd be your dad. How did your day go? Are you okay?"

"It's... I've just been busy, mom, but I'm fine." I paused for a moment, debating whether or not to tell her about my day. Judging from our conversation earlier, I decided it would probably make her a little too happy to know I'd been stood up, so I moved on to what I'd heard her say when I'd answered the phone.

"Did you say you wanted Charlie to hide pictures?"

"Yes, well... I know that you said you didn't want to talk about...the past...so I asked Charlie to take them all down." I wracked my brain trying to figure out what pictures Charlie would have that I would consider too painful to look at. Surely he didn't have photos of me and Edward together lying around the house? I suddenly remembered seeing odd dust patterns above his fireplace: odd triangular-shaped spots of clean wood amongst the inch of dust that covered everything else. I hadn't really thought about it at the time, as I was mindlessly cleaning and straightening. The shape could have easily been made by the kind of frames with strut backsto prop them up. Now it seemed that that was important. I couldn't place why, though, and that bothered me.

Renee continued to talk, and something about her tone felt wrong. Her voice was unusually high and light as she spoke about mundane things, like Phil's job, and how nice the weather was for late December. I listened to her ramble on with half an ear, mumbling agreements as was necessary and promising her, once again, that I'd stay close to home for the rest of my stay in Forks. After she'd said her goodbyes, I hit the end button and stared numbly at the floorboards.

I had a horrible feeling that I had just been lied to by my own mother.

"Bells?"

Charlie's voice carried from the other side of my door and I stood up, phone in hand. I opened the door and handed it to him, careful not to meet his gaze. If Renee was keeping things from me, wasn't Charlie? It was clear that he'd removed something from his mantel, but the thought of him displaying pictures of me with Edward in such a prominent place in his home seemed odd. Was it even about Edward at all? Maybe he'd just wanted to be reminded of his daughter in happier times, but why would Renee know about those? She hadn't stepped foot in this house in nearly twenty-four years, not since I was an infant.

"Hey, do you think you'd be up for pizza tonight?"

"Yeah." I said absently, not really thinking about food at all. The nagging feeling that he was keeping secrets made me even more anxious and sad. Charlie took the phone I handed to him, and I watched him scan through his missed calls. He walked away from the door and down the stairs as though nothing was different in our world from how it had been twenty minutes ago.

Charlie wouldn't keep things from me, I realized. My entire life, he'd always told me the truth, even when he knew I didn't want to hear it.

I grabbed my notebook from my bag and spent the next half hour writing down all my fears and heartaches from the day. It didn't make me feel better.

The smell of food wafted up toward me, making my stomach growl. I threw my notebook to the side and decided to join Charlie downstairs. Judging by the clock, I'd been in my room for a lot longer than it would take to get a pizza delivered.

I stopped cold when I reached the kitchen door. Charlie was standing at the sink with white knuckles, both hands gripping the stainless steel rim with force. His back and neck were tense. His brow was furrowed as he stared angrily at the bottom of the sink and the knife that lay there, dotted with blood.

"You promised me you weren't going to do this, Bella."

My heart dropped to my stomach. He was angry and hurt, and I knew that nothing I said would fix it. The fact that I didn't follow through with the deed meant nothing, and I deserved that. There was no way he'd believe me. I tried anyway.

"I didn't. I stopped—"

"Because I walked in the house?" His tone made me feel like I was five-years-old, only Charlie never yelled at me when I was a child. He never yelled at all. I was shocked by how intimidated I suddenly was. This was why he was the chief of police.

"No."

He didn't give me time to say anything else.

"Get in the car."

This, I hadn't expected. The gut-wrenching thought that he was going to send me home made my eyes fill with tears.

"Dad, I—"

"Don't. Just don't say anything." I could see he was struggling to keep his composure and the tears started running down my face. "This has gone on for far too long. I don't give a damn what Renee says, and I'm sorry, Bells, but I don't care if you want to face this or not. You're going."

"You're sending me back to Florida?"

"What? No! No, I'm not." He sighed, and placed his hands on either side of my face, stooping low so that he was eye-level with me.

"I'm taking you to Edward."


	5. Burning Shade and Faded Light

This story was beta'd by the lovely PTB Beta's Ange de' laube and Mel/mcc101180. My sincere thanks to you both for your crititiques.

This is the inspiration behind this entire story. I suggest, while reading this chapter, go to youtube and look up Robert Pattinson, 'I was broken'.

I am dying to know what you all think of this chapter. :)

The interior of the bar was surprisingly modern. A wall of mirrors lined the wall behind me, making the space look much larger than it actually was. Round tables were placed strategically in front of a low-level stage that was, thankfully, empty of instruments. Polished hard wood and gleaming surfaces covered everything; it was hard to believe this used to be a dirty hardware store. I had chosen a table along the wall, closest to the stage. The light above my table was dim; a bulb that hung above it had gone out. It was a perfect place to sit and hide.

I leaned against the back of the padded leather chair, clutching my notebook between shaking, white-knuckled fingers. I could see the envelope from Edward through the thin top sheet of paper, calling to me to take it out again, run my fingers over the beautiful writing inside it.

"_We still love you."_

I took a deep breath and coughed. The air inside the pub was suddenly sweet and cloying; a patron near the bar was smoking a cigar, despite the very clear "NO SMOKING" sign above the cash register. I heard a loud thump and looked around the side to see a tall, gorgeous blonde with a box of heavy-looking champagne bottles. She huffed; an annoyed expression crossed her beautiful face.

"Allen, you know you're not allowed to smoke in here. Don't make me call Chief Swan back to kick your sorry butt out." The guy muttered something about being harassed. She winked at him and turned her attentions back to the box, prying it open with perfectly manicured nails.

Charlie had driven me here across the small town of Forks. Having my fears somewhat relieved that he wasn't sending me home was short-lived once I'd found out he was taking me to Edward. I wasn't ready. I would never be ready. A part of my heart was singing inside my chest—the empty, long-dormant part that would always belong to only him—but I was a nervous wreck.

When Charlie had parked the truck, I'd realized we were right outside the old hardware-store-turned-bar that I'd noticed earlier in the day. The old, faded brick walls of the building were now surrounded by attractive landscaping, though the same, retro hardware signs still hung in a few of the windows. I had looked over at my dad, questioningly.

"I have to make some calls, and try a couple other places. I'm going to leave you here for a bit."

"At a bar?"

"Edward lives upstairs. He wasn't home a few minutes ago, but he has to come back sometime."

I had looked up at the windows of the second floor with new appreciation, greedily searching for clues of what his life looked like after all this time. All I'd been able to see were some faded green curtains hanging in by window.

It was difficult to imagine Edward not living with Esme and Carlisle in their massive pristine home which lay on the outskirts of town; in their home where nothing was faded or worn: like a museum—or a mausoleum.

Carlisle was a well-respected doctor and possibly the wealthiest man in Forks, if their home was any indication. I remembered him being quiet, yet stern, and very insistent that the house rules be kept at all times. I couldn't really fault him for that, though. The Cullen house was a revolving door of foster kids, Edward being their first adoption.

Carlisle and Esme had tried for years to have children. After many miscarriages and failed attempts, Esme had decided to fulfill her calling of becoming a mother through the foster system. When I met Edward, there had been six children living in their home, most of them age twelve and under, and all in the process of becoming official Cullens. Their house was a cacophony of noise and activity. It was a constant source of contention between Esme and Carlisle—or so Edward had once said.

Though he was not fond of the fostering process and the chaos that ensued with so many little ones constantly about, Carlisle doted on Edward. He was the golden child, the musical prodigy, the genius. He had high aspirations for his first adopted son, which is why I did not fit well into his grand picture. Esme was kind and tolerant, but Carlisle was openly critical. The day that Edward had introduced me to them, we sat in their austere living room while Carlisle grilled me with question after question, barely hiding his contempt at my answers. I didn't know what I wanted to do once I graduated, my father was merely a civil servant, my parents were divorced, and my G.P.A. was only the equivalent of a mid-B average. I was never pretty, smart, or talented enough to be worthy of Edward's attentions. Although, I doubted Carlisle would have been happy with any girl that Edward had brought home.

That was what I told myself at the time.

If what Mike had said was true, and Carlisle had disowned Edward, it must have been over something terrible. Maybe it was because of his new girlfriend. Was she also not good enough? I couldn't allow myself to think about that.

"Hey, can I get you something to drink?" The bartender startled me, and I jumped a few inches off of my seat and slid my journal off the table and into my lap. "Sorry," she said, a kind smile on her face. "What can I get you?"

I looked blankly at the table in front of me and realized I'd left my wallet in my backpack at home. I'd flown to my room, Charlie on my heels the whole time, to grab my notebook and a pen before he rushed me into the truck. I hadn't thought I'd needed money. It seemed odd now: I'd valued my journal above my wallet.

"Um...nothing, thanks."

"Well, unfortunately, I need to sell you something. How 'bout a beer?"

"I don't have my wallet with me." I blushed, wishing Charlie would hurry up and come back.

"Well, if the good police chief dropped you off, you must be all right. I'll go get you a drink and start a tab for you." I asked her if she could please make it a Coke, instead. She smiled and walked behind the counter, quickly returning with my soda and a tall glass of something that looked slightly pink and bubbly.

"It's Christmas Eve – on the house." she said as if that was explanation enough. I thanked her and turned quickly to my journal, needing some sort of distraction. I wrote down every detail I could recall of the Cullens' home, from the white, pristine walls, furniture and carpet, to the lush greenery of the forest that could be seen from every window that lined the Cullens' west wall.

More and more images came swiftly.

The green of Edward's eyes.

Of our meadow.

Of the soft blanket he'd laid upon the grass that day we'd shared our first kiss and, shortly thereafter, our first everything else.

He'd waited for me. I remembered how incredibly special it had been, knowing that I was loved and that we had shared something neither of us had experienced with anyone else.

We'd been so stupid that day.

While I wrote, the bar around me came to life as people filed in and out: some to have a quick drink with buddies before they went home to their families; others were getting slowly drunk around me. The girl behind the counter came back and handed me another soda. A song played throughout the room, but it was a song with a heavy beat and a lot of auto-tune. I was grateful to whoever kept putting quarters in the jukebox to play techno-style music.

The last song faded into the background as I continued to fill up empty pages, my face wet, my wrist cramping. The first notes of a guitar riff drifted across the short distance toward me and I froze. I hadn't seen anyone walk onto the stage. I hadn't noticed the microphone and bar stool that had been placed there. My heart began to pound, and I looked frantically toward the door, tempted to hurtle myself through it and out into the dark street to hide.

I looked back to the stage, and even before I saw his face, I recognized the way he held his guitar, his long fingers effortlessly moving across the strings as he began to play.

_Edward._

I studied his face, amazed at all the changes and similarities. All the baby fat of youth gone, his shoulders were broader, his face more angular and chiseled. My memory had not done him justice. His hair was still a dark auburn, but much shorter. He used to wear it longer; it would curl against his forehead. I used to run my fingers through it while we sat in his room listening to old albums.

Music was our language, so long ago. Every song we'd listened to together told the story of our love. Once that was over, music became pointless–and painful.

The chords he'd been playing had drifted into a slow, sad melody; it was one I'd never heard before, yet my whole soul identified with it. My body was frozen in place. The pen fell out of my shaking hand and rolled to the table and then to the polished floor. When he began to sing, something inside me broke. His voice was deep and soulful, and I could do nothing but quietly witness the heartbreak that unfolded on the stage; it emanated from every chord, every word sung.

I briefly wondered if this was just a performance, if he wasn't even singing about me at all. But in between the first and second verse, I heard him whisper my name. It was soft and low, but reverberated within me with as much destruction as cannon fire.

"_I was alone; I was tired but now I'm bound._

_My head is off the ground._

_For a long time I was so weary, tired of the sound,_

_I've heard before._

_Knowing of the nights I'm walking out the door._

_Haunted by the things I've made. Stuck between the burning light and the dusty shade._

_Said I used to think the past was dead and gone. _

_But I was wrong, so wrong._

_Whatever makes you blind must also make you strong, make you strong._

_In my time I've melted into many forms. _

_From the day that I was born._

_I know that there is no place to hide,_

_Stuck between the burning shade and the faded light_

_I was broken for a long time, but it's over now."_

I wrapped my arms around my torso, unable to look away from the beauty and the horror of it all. I had never wanted to hurt him. At first, my actions had seemed selfless: had he known I was pregnant, he would have dropped everything, given up on his dreams, quit college, found a sensible job. The thought of that life was heart-wrenching. I'd never wanted children before — not until I'd met Edward.

_But it's over now._

"Sad, isn't it?" I wrenched my eyes away from Edward, who seemed oblivious to everyone else in the room. Looking around, I realized "everyone" equaled myself, Edward, and the bartender who stood beside me, a curious expression on her face. She stared at me for a long moment, making me feel self-conscious. Realization dawned on me that this was Edward's girlfriend. I wanted to hate her, but how could I? I'd had my chance. I hoped she was good to him, better than I had been.

"You look familiar, but I don't think I've seen you in here before," she said.

I realized I had tears streaming down my face—and I had probably been caught moon-eyeing her boyfriend. _Her_ boyfriend.

"I'm just visiting."

"Okay." She was still unabashedly staring at me with a slight frown on her face. She gestured toward Edward with the empty glass she'd just removed from my table. "He does this every now and then. I don't know who she was, but she must've done a number on him. It's heartbreaking to watch when he gets like this. Every year, he goes to meet her at the same spot. She never shows. He called me earlier, wanting me to meet him there, but I just couldn't. I can't get involved in his past drama, you know?"

I nodded slightly, and struggled to control my emotions, wondering why she was giving so much information to a random stranger. She must be a very understanding girlfriend to be okay with any of this situation, though.

She walked away as Edward spoke the last words with so much sadness and despair, it drove a knife though my heart. I held back a sob and closed my eyes, concentrating on breathing in and out. I deserved this. I could no longer hide behind denial or suicide attempts. I couldn't run or fade away. It was time to grow up and face it. I had no idea what I was going to say, but a fierce need to finally do the right thing was now my driving force: I needed to speak to him.

I watched as he walked to the bar. She held his face between her palms, and I looked away.

_He's not yours anymore. It's over. _

I felt like I was going to be sick; my head was pounding. I lay my head on one arm, wishing I didn't have to do this alone. I had to do this alone. I was about to stand up and walk over to them, when she spoke:

"Edward, you have got to stop doing this to yourself."

Guilt gnawed at me as I spied on them from my dark corner. I pretended I was writing and not watching them, not suffering near heart failure from being so close to him. I realized that if I spoke up, I'd be caught eavesdropping. My cheeks burned hot.

I heard Edward sigh loudly. "Rose, I can't talk about this right now."

_Rose. Even her name was gorgeous._

"You can't talk about it, but you can lay your heart out all over the stage and sing about it?" She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you've had a rough day... I just hate to see you falling into this again. I guess I just don't get it. If she was worth it, why hasn't she written or called in all this time?" Silence hung around them, and Rose laughed slightly, changing the subject.

"So, how many miles did you end up walking?"

He sighed loudly and accepted the glass that Rose offered him. "Seven–and the piece of crap motorcycle is still stuck there. I'll have to call a tow truck in the morning, if it doesn't get towed before I get to it. Hey, Rose, will you hand me my charger?"

Rose reached underneath the bar and handed him the phone charger, plugging it in somewhere on her end. "I'm sorry, honey. You should really stop going on these camping trips with the guys. You're all completely hopeless. Next time, you should let the women pack your bags—or in your case, make sure your phone is charged. Tell me why Jake didn't give you a ride, again?"

_Jake? My Jake? _

"He'd already left. I was pretty much alone when the bike quit. At least I made it back by Christmas Eve." He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. I watched him push buttons on his phone, surprised to see he had an older model. An older phone and a broken-down bike: it didn't fit the image that I remembered. Somehow, I loved him more for it.

"Did Mom call here?"

"No, why?"

"She's left me about ten text messages–and so did Charlie."

"Is everything all right?" Rose asked, concerned. Edward's posture had changed. His back was rigid; he seemed to be frozen in place, like stone. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what the messages said. I knew it was over. No more hiding. I took a deep breath, stood, and watched as Edward practically leapt from his seat and ran out the door.

"What in the world?" Rose asked. I panicked and finally made a move, flying out the door behind him. I was met with a wall of sleet and rain. The cold was more prenounced since I'd left my jacket inside the bar. Edward was a yard away, looking frantically around, wearing only a long-sleeved gray t-shirt. His cell phone was up to his ear.

"Where is she?" he yelled into the phone to whom I assumed was Charlie. He turned around and spotted me. After a short pause, a look of relief crossed his face. "It's okay. I found her. She's okay. I'll call you later."

I watched in silence as he shut off the phone and crammed it into his back pocket, walking toward me. The rain was freezing, and I turned to go back inside the bar, ignoring every gut reflex to close the distance between us and run into his arms. My chest ached. Breathing in and out was painful.

I looked up at his face and saw the same conflicted emotions. It was wrong; he was with someone else.

I turned to walk back into the building, but not just to seek out the warmth of its interior: I needed to create some space between us. Mine and Edward's relationship had always seemed extraordinary, powerful, otherworldly. From the first time he'd touched my hand, I'd known it. It had always seemed like my life was blank and vague before he came into it. We were connected by something more powerful than just the first blush of love; we were two halves that were always meant to become a whole. I was still just as terrified and elated as I had been that first day when he'd asked me on our first date.

It dawned on me that this was the real reason behind his words of love. He would always love me, just as I would always love him–but that love had shifted for him.

He took my hand from the door handle and pulled me into the glow of the street light, searching my face with his eyes, looking me over as if he would never do so again. I hadn't given him the chance of a goodbye before. Drops of rain fell into my eyes as I looked up at him watching me.

I wasn't sure what I had been expecting: an angry outburst perhaps. What he did shocked me. His hand reached out and touched my face, sending that same wave of energy that I could only describe as "us" though my skin and into my heart. His chest had begun to rise and fall rapidly, his shoulders shaking with emotion; it was just as painful to witness as his song had been. That was why everyone around us had been so against our relationship. They recognized it as being more than the normal crush, or first love of youth. It had frightened them, and rightfully so. It was why I'd had such a difficult time giving him up, giving up what we'd created together.

His hand moved from my face to my neck, where he placed it solidly over my chest, below my collarbone–over my heart. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him lean forward as if he was going to kiss me. I thought to move away, but he wrapped his other arm around my waist, gently pulling me forward. He rested his forehead against mine, and I felt his warm breath on my face, saw it in the small clouds on the icy air. He smelled of woods and campfire. He held me in that awkward position for a long moment, seemingly content just to be close and touching.

Then he said my name. It was soft and breathy, worshipful.

"Bella."


	6. Beautifully Broken

Edited by PTB Betas, Twilightmom505, and Mel/mcc101180. I'm so thankful to all the dedicated people at PTB! You ladies are amazing, amazing, amazing. Thank you!

A lot of questions answered in this chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

Today is my birthday, so please leave some reviews! :D

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He said my name, and it blew across my face like the whisper of a dream, a forgotten memory of what we'd once been, of what I'd lost. His hand was a heavy weight over my heart. For one long moment, everything else fell away. I no longer felt the stinging rain against my exposed skin, only the warmth of his hand pressed against my chest, the feel of his other splayed across my back, his forehead resting on my own.

I balled my hands into fists, digging my fingernails into my palms in an effort to not reciprocate his embrace. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck, bury my fingers in his short auburn hair.

He pulled me underneath the awning of the bar where the rain couldn't reach us. For the first time since I'd left Forks, I felt at peace, happy, wanted.

In one word, the spell was broken.

"Edward?" Rose, his beautiful, blonde girlfriend stood behind us with a disapproving look in her sapphire eyes. I jerked away and imagined I saw a forlorn look cross Edward's handsome features.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. I turned to see her hands placed fiercely on her hips. She glared at him angrily.

"Rose." his voice was shaking and weak, and it made my heart ache. Water dripped down his face in tiny rivulets, and we were both trembling from the cold. "This is Bella."

"Bella." She spat the name with vitriol as if she would tear it to pieces and stomp it into the ground. It was nothing like the way Edward had said it but more in line with what my name deserved. "I thought her face looked familiar. So she's the reason behind all the depressing songs and sleepless nights?"

"Rose..." He left my side and walked toward her, pulling her farther from where I stood. They spoke in whispers at first, but her voice grew angrier and louder with each passing moment.

"How long will she stay this time before she runs off again? What kind of damage will she leave in her wake this time? You need to think about this, Edward!" I could see the indecision caused by her blunt words play across his face. I looked longingly at the interior of the bar through the window beside me where it was warm and dry. The weight of my sins hung heavy in the icy air around me, and I shivered.

"She's been gone for what—seven years? Seven _years_, Edward! You cannot tell me that after all this time, you're going to just take her back into your arms—into your _family_—as if she's been there the whole time! It won't just be your pieces you'll be picking up next time, will it? Think about that Ed—"

"That's enough!" The sudden boom of his voice startled me. "I need to speak to Bella alone, Rosalie."

Rose shook her head and pressed her lips together tightly. She glared at him for one long moment and silently walked back into the bar, never giving me a second glance.

Edward sighed and walked back to me, gesturing toward the side of the building where a set of stairs led up to the second floor. Shivering and wet, I followed him reluctantly up the steps, my heart beat wildly within my chest. The skin over my heart, where his hand had rested, was the only warm spot on my body.

The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, through the haze of frozen rain, shining an eerie pale light on everything around us. I tried to sneak a covert glance to see his face and then wished I hadn't. He looked tired and weary, defeated.

A light was shining right outside the front door to his apartment. Edward opened the glass screen door and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. I glanced up and froze. Displayed proudly on the standard aluminum white-washed door was a wreath. It was made with shells and tiny rocks, the kind that I used to gather from La Push beach as a kid. Among the decorations were half a dozen little hands cut out in heavy paper and glued on in half-hazard directions. The whole thing was mounted on a simple paper plate and embellished with glitter and messy crayon. Edward noticed my hesitation. He looked from me to the door, his brow furrowed. He took several deep breaths. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

"Does this bother you?"

"_Your family,"_ Rose had said.

Edward had a family.

He had a _family_.

From the looks of the size of the hands, his child couldn't be more than toddler age. Based on the amount of glitter and pink used, I imagined a little girl: green eyes and thick, curling blonde hair—a combination of Edward and Rosalie.

Edward was still waiting for me to speak. The cold was more than an inconvenience from the frigid weather; it was an icy bloom surrounding my heart. I was shaking violently. It did bother me, but I had no right to say anything. This wasn't my life or my home. Rose was probably seething downstairs. Guilt ate at my insides, creating knots in my stomach.

"I shouldn't be here."

The look of disappointment that crossed his face was profound. I stared at him in confusion, at his crestfallen face and sad eyes. The gold in them didn't shine as brightly as I'd remembered. He fumbled with his keys, unlocking the door, muttering a curse under his breath.

"Wait here," he said in a clipped tone as he walked inside the darkened room. I waited, shivering, for several long minutes. From the height of the second-story stairs, I could see farther down the street in both directions. I searched for my truck that Charlie had used to drive me here, wishing he'd come and rescue me. What Rose had said was true: I was leaving before I'd even set one foot inside his door. My heart clenched; I wrapped my arms around my midsection, fighting back the pain that thought created.

The door jerked open, and in one swift movement, he pulled me inside, closing the door behind me, wrapping me in his arms. He leaned sideways toward the couch beside us and picked up a worn afghan, wrapping it around my shivering shoulders. I could feel a fire going behind me and heard the click of a heater turning on. I felt protected, loved. It was nothing I deserved.

I placed a hand on his chest and gently pushed him away.

"Edward, I can't—"

"No. Don't say it. Please." His whispered plea caught me off guard. He reached for me again, and I took another step back. We were both shivering, dripping water onto the carpet.

"I guess I thought...I thought you were coming home." He stumbled through the words. My hands were clenched into fists at my sides, fighting the need to touch his face. He raked a hand through his hair, his breaths shaky.

I glanced around the small apartment. The kitchen and living room were one open space, divided only by a small counter that was just big enough for two bar stools which matched the ones from downstairs. Beyond the bar was a tiny kitchen with space enough for one person to move around comfortably. The walls were a very pretty shade of blue, the cabinets a light sand color. A small table stood off to one side. In the living room, a fire was burning below an empty mantle. It was all extremely sparse and very neat.

The sense that something was very, very wrong hung over me heavier than the pelting rain that still fell from the sky outside.

_It's because you don't belong here alone with him._

Finally, he broke the silence. "Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?"

The thought of food made my stomach ache. I placed a hand over my abdomen.

Edward followed the movement; his eyes lingered there on my hand for a long, silent moment. He swallowed and forced his eyes to my face. "I'll be right back. Please...don't leave."

A moment later, he returned, handing me a towel as he used one to dry his own hair and face. I mumbled a soft, "Thank you."

"I have some leftovers. It's not anything like your cooking, but..." His voice trailed off, and the awkwardness of the situation frustrated me. This was nothing like the scenario I'd played in my mind. I'd expected anger from him, lots of shouting. His docile attitude threw me for a loop. The quiet pain behind his eyes made my heart ache. The recited apology in my head seemed ill-fitting in this environment.

Edward rushed around his small kitchen, heating up plates of something covered in sauce and mozzarella cheese. He took the dish out of the microwave, blew on it, and laughed softly.

"Sorry, force of habit."

I smiled slightly, though my eyes were beginning to fill with tears. He was probably a really great dad. He set the plate in front of me, but I couldn't bring myself to do more than move pasta around with my fork. He sat beside me on the other stool and did much of the same. I could feel his eyes on me. Silence followed as tension slowly built within the room around us.

"Bella, I need to know. Are you staying?"

I shook my head; the actual words were too difficult to say. "I don't think so," I whispered. I heard his fork clatter onto his plate. I looked over to see him holding his head in his hands.

"I just came to tell you how sorry I am. I was so wrong." The words I'd practiced over and over in my head had left me. I just needed to get through this. I knew that he'd never forgive me. I was all right with that. I didn't deserve forgiveness, but he deserved an explanation.

"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant? You could have told me. I had to find out from Charlie after you were already on the other side of the country." After all the time that had passed, the anguish was still evident in his voice.

I set down my fork and stared at my hands in my lap. "I know. I'm so sorry. I was just...terrified—of everything. I never meant to hurt you. I couldn't destroy your plans, your life." Looking around the small apartment, I realized with horror that I'd blown it all to hell anyway.

"You were my life, Bella. You were everything."

I fought back the tears at that admission.

"What made you change your mind?" The question confused me. "You said you decided you couldn't 'destroy my plans.' What changed your mind?"

"Nothing. I didn't change it." Why would he think I had? I'd gone through with the closed adoption, even though it killed me to do so. "Renee said she spoke to you, and you agreed with the...adoption." My voice cracked on the word, and I struggled for composure. "You know the rest."

"That makes no sense." He stared at the countertop, a deep frown on his face. After a moment, he continued. "You never gave me the chance to be there for you. You just left. When Renee called and told me you didn't want to keep the baby, I was floored—"

"She said that?" My mind was racing. I'd pleaded and begged, and she had insisted that I was just being emotional, that those feelings would pass, and I'd be grateful to have moved forward. She'd said Edward would feel the same way. There was no reason that we should both suffer because of one mistake. The pain never did go away, though. It only got worse. Had Renee lied to him? Had she lied to me?

No. Knowing what I knew of my mother, that wasn't possible. He must be mistaken.

"But that's not the part that hurts the most, Bella. The fact that you can just leave _now, _just walk away...I can't reconcile any of your actions with the girl I fell in love with. It just doesn't make sense." He shoved his plate away and turned fully toward me, his expression and his tone angry.

"Why are you even here now?"

His blunt question stung. "I needed to see you, to tell you how sorry I am..."

"That's it? You only came to apologize? After all this time, you decided to travel over three thousand miles to tell me you're sorry..." I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down, "...but you don't want to be in our lives."

I said nothing. What he'd said wasn't true; I wanted to be in his life, in Charlie's life, in his family's life... That ship had sailed, however. Between Rose and the wreath on his door, it was clear: I didn't belong in his world. I wasn't good for him.

"I thought I was over all the anger," he confessed. "But now that you're here, all I can think of is everything I've missed—and the constant worry that plagued me for months. All the months that you were on the other side of the country pregnant and I couldn't take care of you. I woke up every morning consumed by that thought.

"I used to call you, constantly, begging your mom to let me talk to you. She eventually got tired of hearing my voice and told me to never call again, she said she would call me. Carlisle was afraid she'd file a restraining order, so he took away my phone. I had no money of my own, and Carlisle refused to let me fly out with Charlie."

I noticed he'd used his adoptive father's proper name. I'd never heard him call him anything but "Dad." Charlie never came to visit, though...He'd wanted to, but Renee had told me he'd been too busy with work. I tried not to let it bother me that my dad couldn't take some days off from his job to be with me. I had needed his comforting honesty and consistency.

"I read every damn pregnancy book and internet site I could get my hands on. I became obsessed. I was convinced you were going to die from some horrible childbirth complication, and I wouldn't be there to say goodbye. I couldn't sleep, or eat, or go through life like a normal teenager. I wanted to take care of you. You never gave me the chance to be involved in any capacity.

"And you've missed _everything_—and you act like that doesn't even matter, that you're fine leaving and missing the rest. None of this makes any sense." He ran his hands through his hair, a sign of frustration.

"It _does_ matter. I can't justify what I did. I made a mistake. All of it was a mistake." The weight of that fact overwhelmed me. I choked back a sob and covered my face with my hands. Falling apart wouldn't solve anything. I had no right to cry in front of him. I was the one who had caused all of _his_ pain.

"It wasn't a mistake. Not all of it." He said it with conviction, which, after his previous rant, seemed out of place. He sighed heavily. "Come sit with me." He offered his hand, and I took it, following him to the small tan sofa that faced a blazing fire.

Edward sat beside me, leaving as little space between us as possible. I frowned. The nagging feeling that something was wrong wouldn't leave me alone. I tried to ignore it.

Edward let out a long breath beside me. "Can you tell me what happened to you?" I followed his gaze and realized the sleeves of my shirt had ridden up, revealing my scarred wrists. I jerked them back down. His knowing about them made me feel ashamed. I swiped a tear from my face, angry at my own stupid weakness. I'd made such a mess of this. I'd made a mess of everything.

I don't know what made me do it, but I decided to start from the beginning. I couldn't give him back those months... but I could help fill in gaps although I knew it wouldn't be the same.

"I found out I was pregnant three weeks after...I was completely terrified. I'd been afraid for weeks, and once it was finally confirmed...I panicked. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I knew that if I told you, you would drop everything. I couldn't let you do that. I never wanted to make you give up on your dreams." He listened with rapt attention, saying nothing, letting me speak uninterrupted. Once I began, I couldn't seem to stop. The whole truth tumbled out from my lips in a torrent. Things I'd never even admitted to myself were finally being spoken and hovering in the air between us.

It was freeing.

It was crippling.

"Renee drove me to the clinic, twice." He flinched. "And the second time, I told her I'd gone through with it. She didn't question me, not even when I started wearing baggier clothes. I think she was in denial over the whole thing." Or maybe she'd just wanted to believe that her only daughter wouldn't lie to her about something so important.

"She found out when it was too late to do anything about it...legally. I couldn't do it, go through with the...clinic...because all I could see in my head was what it would look like. If it would look like you..."

I was shocked at myself, revealing that secret; I'd never told anyone that before. Something lit up in Edward's eyes at that admission. I thought I saw a small glimmer of hope there.

"It was so difficult, keeping it from her. I had to wear baggy clothes. Eventually I stole shirts from Phil's laundry. She never said anything." I could feel the tears building behind my eyes and falling down my cheeks as I continued. "And every day, it grew inside me, stronger and more beautiful. But I knew I couldn't keep it. It wouldn't have been fair to you if I had."

Edward looked as though he was going to interrupt me, but I kept talking. I needed to get it all out into the open, confess everything. It wouldn't absolve my sins, nothing could do that, but if it allowed him to heal, to move on with his life and his family...

"I wanted to, though. So badly, I wanted to keep it. In the end though, I had no choice. It just made sense...to give it up."

"Did you say _it_?" His brow was furrowed; the look of confusion that crossed his face was unmistakable.

I nodded, wondering why that mattered.

"Afterward...I couldn't...adjust. After three months, I was diagnosed with severe postpartum depression and then psychosis." I couldn't look at his face. "I stopped caring about everything. Renee had to force me to eat and take the medication, but I didn't want to get better. I didn't deserve to be healed." _I still didn't._ "For a long time, I pretended to take the medication and then spit it out or threw it up when she wasn't looking." Edward grabbed my hand. I recognized the look in his eyes; I'd seen it often enough reflected in Renee's and Charlie's. He was afraid for me. I wished in that moment, harder than I ever had, that I could take it all back.

"I screwed up everything."

He spoke softy. "Bella, you weren't alone in the meadow that day."

"No, but I was the one who made all the wrong choices. I had...the baby—" Oh god, how that word hurt to say. "—at home with a midwife. Renee thought it would be best." I fought down the bile that rose in the back of my throat, swallowing tears. I hadn't planned on saying the next part, but once I'd started, I seemed to not be able to shut up. "And once it was all over, they took it away to the next room, and I never even got to hold it, or see it. I still remember the way it cried. I hear that sound in my head over and over, and nothing I do makes it stop. The only thing that ever worked was..."

Edward looked up suddenly, and the expression on his face intensified the goose bumps that ran down my arms and the back of my neck. It was frightening, watching the play of emotions cross his face: shock, horror, anger. He looked completely stricken. He stared at me, his mouth agape, saying nothing.

My brain went on auto-pilot, my mouth spouting out the words. It was all too much—too intense. The sense that something wasn't right put me on edge. I wanted to run out the door; I wanted to run into his arms.

"I don't even have a single picture—"

I looked around the room and suddenly realized what was wrong.

_Pictures_.

I started to panic, feeling as though I'd just stepped inside my own personal horror movie.

It wasn't that the curtains were faded, or that the bar stools looked like they were about to fall apart at any second, or that the whole space was dark and full of shadows. Nothing of his current financial situation or the setting of the room was what was causing the rock to form in the pit of my stomach.

I stared at the mantle above the blazing fire. Empty, just like Charlie's had been.

I stared at the nails that were glaringly sticking out of the brightly painted walls, at the refrigerator magnets which held nothing.

No toys were gathered in corners or on tables. It dawned on me that this was what he'd been doing while I was waiting outside: erasing all evidence of his child, of his family. Why would he do that? What the hell was going on here?

The Edward I knew had a dresser full of pictures of his adopted family. They were important to him. He'd cherished them.

I looked over at him, an unspoken question beginning to form on my lips, one I didn't quite have the words to. His face was a mask of pain, a man burning alive. Panicked, I shot up from my seat, looking for any excuse to leave. "I should call Charlie. Your girlfriend probably won't be happy about us being alone for so long."

It seemed to take Edward several moments to realize I'd spoken. When he responded, it was absent-mindedly. "Rose isn't my girlfriend. She's my sister."

"Sister..." I replied stupidly. A fog had settled over my brain. He didn't have a girlfriend, but he had a family. He must have let someone in at some point, then. Oddly, it didn't make me feel any better to know that he wasn't with Rose. Something about her fierce, yet gentle spirit had seemed to fit with my image of the person that Edward _should_ be with.

Every instinct was telling me to run for the door. Fight or Flight. Three long strides and my hand would be gripping the doorknob. Edward dropped his head into his hands, elbows braced on his knees. I watched him as he took several deep breaths. When he looked up at me, his eyes were red-rimmed and filled with tears. He cleared his throat and spoke.

"Bella, I don't know how to say this." His eyes were locked with my own for one long moment. "God, how am I going to say this?"

He was only going to say that he would always love me, that he forgave me, but there was no room for me in his life.

He was only going to tell me there was no room for me in his life.

I repeated the words in my head like a lunatic, as if that was the best-case scenario that could come from this messed-up situation. As if it would make the words easier to bear once he'd finally said them. The thought made me want to weep, but it didn't explain the unrelenting paranoia.

Edward grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, prompting me to sit beside him again. He held my hand in both of his in his lap, playing with my fingers for a moment before intertwining them with his own. Then he reached around the side of the couch that was nearly flush against another damningly blank wall.

He seemed to steel himself before dragging something out, holding it against his chest. It was a small picture frame. He held the image away from me. I couldn't tell if he was sheltering it from me or me from it. My skin began to crawl. I needed to get out. Despite the warmth from the fire, my veins turned to ice. Goose bumps rose on my arms, causing every hair to stand on end.

My head swam, and my eyes snapped up to his. "Edward?"

He swallowed thickly, not bothering to hide the tears that had fallen from his eyes. Those pale green eyes that looked at me with so much love and adoration.

"Bella..." He gripped my hand with his own, holding me fast to my spot. "Did you get any of my letters?"

"What?" I felt my bottom lip tremble. "You sent letters?"

He grimaced. "I sent a letter every single day for the first year—letters and countless pictures. You didn't get any of them, did you?"

I shook my head, feeling as though it was full of wool. There must have been a mistake. He must have sent them to the wrong address. But the Christmas card...? Realization slammed me hard. I'd checked the mail that day. I hadn't received any of his other cards. Why would it be difficult to believe I'd missed his letters too?

As if reading my thoughts, he said, "The card I sent this year...it was my goodbye. I realized I couldn't keep holding on to your memory, holding out for hope that you would decide to come back. Charlie wanted me to keep fighting, but I think he eventually understood. He didn't know, though...had no idea...This week, I went camping with some friends. It was supposed to be a celebration. I was closing that chapter of my life for good. Instead, it felt like a funeral. I couldn't tell if it was yours or mine." He shook his head.

He seemed to struggle for words, as he gripped the frame with white-knuckled fingers. My hand had begun to grow numb, but I didn't try to pull away.

"She lied to you, Bells." He swallowed thickly. I watched another tear travel down his cheek. "She lied to us both. She said you...didn't want to be in our life. That you wanted nothing to do with..._her_, and I knew it couldn't be true, but I believed it anyway."

His chest rose and fell more rapidly now as he fought for words. I silently begged for it to all stop, to wake up from the nightmare that this reunion had become. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to hate me and move on. The image of him broken and shattered would be forever seared into my memory. I wanted to comfort him, but I couldn't. I could only sit and watch him crumble in front of me.

"Bella...I'm so, so sorry. I had her...the whole time."

He slowly turned the frame around. The breath blew out of me as though I'd been punched in the stomach. Brown eyes—not green—smiled out at me from a small, heart-shaped face. Long wavy hair fell down over slim shoulders. She was wearing a pretty red Christmas dress with comical green frog rain boots. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought I was looking at an image of myself as a child. Only it wasn't me.

_No!_

He held my hand tighter as I tried to jerk away. His voice cracked as he softly said, "This is Charlotte Esme Cullen. This is our daughter."


	7. This is Where the Healing Starts

I apologize for the delay with this chapter. I really struggled writing this one for some reason. All the wonderful reviews from previous chapters have definitely kept me going. The critiques have been very helpful too. Keep them coming! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

This chapter was edited byTrilby97 and GetDrunkOnVictory. Thank you so much, PTB!

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There are moments in time that we never forget: beautiful, heartbreaking, solid moments that are cemented in our hearts and minds for the rest of our lives. They bore into our consciousness and never let us go, remembered by our senses: the sights, smells and sounds that are brought to the forefront of our thoughts in the form of a song that we heard in the moment, or a whisper of a breeze across our skin. Or the memory of a feeling.

I would never forget the moment when Edward Cullen confessed to me that he had been raising our daughter.

The warmth of his strong hand holding me in place, gently forcing me to face the moment...

The smell of wood crackling in the fireplace...

Worried green eyes...

A heartbeat of time...

A deep, shaky breath...

The silent sound of my heart breaking in two.

The room around me seemed to tunnel. I heard him say my name as though I was deep under water.

"N—no." A sob escaped and I couldn't breathe. "No!" I said with more conviction. I couldn't look at the image of the little girl in the frame. I didn't want to believe it. I couldn't. Edward's words reverberated inside my head.

_She lied to us, Bells_.

"That can't be right," I whispered. I was frozen in place. Every cell in my body told me my beautiful, carefree, loving mother would never do such a thing. Every memory I had of her, before I'd ruined her life, was filled with laughter and mischief. The sound of her innocent, bell-like laughter rang clear in my mind, creating chaos. I couldn't accept it.

"She wouldn't do that. Not about this." My voice broke, and Edward said nothing, watching me intently, mournfully.

His hand was shaking as he held the picture, looking as though he were afraid I would run away. I wished that I could. Part of me, the part of Bella Swan that had become so broken and damaged that I could barely look at my own reflection in the mirror—the part that wanted nothing more to do with this sad, sorry life—wanted to fly away to the solace of the black, comforting darkness.

But I was in the same room with the man that I'd loved for all of my adult life, however short that was. I couldn't run from him. In his hands he held an image of the thing that had been the source of my suffering and pain. The one thing that had ripped me apart, but could also make me whole. I forced my eyes to shift from his watery green ones down to the image of...her.

That one simple pronoun suddenly turned my world on its axis.

I stared at an image of a little girl who looked just like me. I tried to memorize each delicate feature with hungry eyes. Soft, warm brown hair framed her tiny, heart-shaped face. Her top lip was slightly fuller than her bottom lip, and her mouth was upturned slightly in the corners in a shy smile. Her pale complexion and slight blush mirrored every single image that had ever been taken of myself as a child. The resemblance was so uncanny; it made me wonder if her baby pictures would also look just like mine. Her features became blurry and I swiped at my eyes; out of the periphery of my vision, I saw Edward do the same.

"You've had her?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer to the question, parroting his tearfully announced admission. "You've had her the whole time?" His face crumbled as he nodded.

My heartbreak was replaced by a sudden rushing wave of anger. She'd lied to me. My mother had lied to me. She'd looked me in the eye, every day, and told me what a good decision I'd made. _I'd_ made. But from the moment my baby was born, I'd pleaded and begged to keep it. I'd wanted it—I'd wanted _her_. At the first small glimpse, at the sound of her cry, every single reason for giving her up became dust. None of it had mattered.

She lied to me.

Fragments of images and words floated to the surface, surrounding me, as I sat in mute silence, struggling with each breath.

"_Okay, Bella, one more push and it'll all be over."_

_The searing pain, like acid burning through each nerve ending._

_A newborn infant's cry. A glimpse of a tiny foot and one dimpled hand._

_My own pleading cries._

"_Wait, I changed my mind! I want it! Please, please, I need to keep it, please!"_

_My mom stroking my sweat-soaked hair._

"_Bella, honey, we talked about this, remember? Remember your list? You wrote down all the reasons why this was the best decision to make."_

_I no longer cared about the damn list. I wanted to go back in time, rip it to shreds, burn it to ash._

She lied to me.

That list hadn't even mattered because she'd given our child to him anyway. _Why?_

"_I spoke to Edward. He's agreed that this is the best decision. You did the right thing, honey."_

I wished I'd been able to talk to him myself, wondering why he'd agree so readily with the decision when I couldn't even make sense of it. Maybe she was right. Maybe I had done the right thing.

It hadn't taken away the hurt, the agony of missing a piece of my own heart.

And I'd missed _everything_.

I never got to nurse her, no middle-of-the-night feedings.

I missed her first smile...

First words...

First steps...

My stomach heaved and I ran to the sink, barely making it before losing the contents. Edward was quickly behind me, turning on the water and holding back my hair. I choked on vomit and tears.

A sob tore through my body and I fell, collapsing to the floor. Edward followed, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close to his chest, the small rectangle of linoleum of the kitchen floor full of our tangled arms and legs. Feeling no guilt for doing so, I turned and clung to him. All of my senses were eclipsed in pain.

"I'm so sorry," he said into my hair, rocking me back and forth as I cried. "I'm so sorry for ever doubting you. I'm sorry I never made the effort to go see you, to talk to you myself."

"Can I see her?" I whimpered, my voice muffled by his still-damp t-shirt.

Edward made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. He clutched me more tightly and nodded zealously into my hair. "Yes. Absolutely, yes."

He held me as I mourned the loss of the memories I'd never have, the moments I'd never be able to file away into an album or scrapbook and look back on lovingly, the years that had already passed that she'd learned to live without me. Did she even know I existed? Would she even want me?

And through the haze of pain that had clouded everything for so long, I dared to let myself feel the small inkling of joy that bubbled along the surface. It didn't take away the pain, but it made it slightly easier to bear: our child was loved by her father. He'd loved her when I couldn't.

She was no longer unreachable, unattainable. She wasn't closed off to me forever. And though my heart broke over the circumstances I was given, I found a small solace in that. Seven years had been Hell on Earth; it could have been eighteen—or the rest of my life. I'd tried to end it all, not even knowing what it was that I was missing.

And my mother had allowed that.

How could she have allowed that?

We stayed in that moment, caught between Heaven and Hell, wrapped in each others arms, weeping for the time that had been wrenched away from us. Strong, unyielding arms were wrapped around my waist; it wasn't lost on me that he was now the one holding my hollow insides together.

I didn't hear the sharp rap on the door, the confident knock of a police officer. I wasn't even aware of his presence in the room until he knelt beside us and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Bells, you okay? Are you hurt?"

The irony of the question made me almost want to laugh. Instead, I cried harder into Edward's chest.

Edward seemed to have difficulty in answering, clearing his throat several times. When he could finally speak he said brokenly, "She... she didn't know I had Charlotte."

From behind me, I could hear the breath loudly leave Charlie's lungs. When he finally spoke, he seemed incredulous. "What? How the hell is that even possible?"

He jerked to his feet behind me. I could hear him pacing back and forth across the floor. A chair leg scraped across the linoleum as Charlie returned to kneel in the small cramped space between the end of the counter and the table against the wall. He placed a strong hand on my shoulder.

"Bella, I'm so sorry. I didn't know." His voice broke as his hand fell away. I heard the door close as he walked out of the apartment. Unfortunately, the closed door didn't muffle the sound that carried from the other side as he stood on the landing. I could hear him yelling loudly into his phone. "What is wrong with you, Renee? What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Those brief accusations were all I heard before Edward placed his hands solidly over my ears.

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Feelings of loss washed over me as I stared up at the small, two-story pale, yellow house through the windshield. This was not the beautiful, grand home that I knew in my youth. The mansion, Charlie had explained, had been sold after the divorce. The thought of Carlisle and Esme no longer living together in that large, white house was inconceivable. My heart ached for them. Unsure if I could handle one more moment of grieving, I didn't ask for details.

And oh, how I'd grieved. Once Edward and I had managed to pick ourselves up off the floor, I was numb and completely spent. My eyes had cried so many tears, I felt as though there wasn't a drop of moisture left in my whole body. Charlie suggested he take me home, let me get some rest. I didn't want to leave, but I was too exhausted to argue with him. Edward reluctantly agreed, but gave me one last hug before I left him; it had lasted a very long time.

When I got to Charlie's house, I went straight upstairs to bed, not even bothering to change my clothes. I lay on my small mattress, staring at the shadows along the walls and ceiling, wondering numbly if any of it had even been real. One torn and bloody wound was being healed, but was also creating another. In the short span of one sentence spoken, I'd gained my daughter and lost my mother. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to speak to Renee again. An exhausted sleep overtook me quickly and I dreamed of brown-haired monsters with sharp teeth. Instead of blood, they tried to eat my soul and drink my happiness.

Charlie said nothing the next morning when he came in to wake me. Nothing of his conversation with Renee was mentioned, though I dreamt I heard him shouting a one-sided conversation at the monsters in my head, complete with lots of curses that I'd never before heard him speak.

He was silent as he cut the engine, the resulting void of noise making the growing tension in the cab that much more obvious. Charlie was a man of few words, but his silence was usually expected, comforting. This was very different. I tried to pretend I didn't notice it and focused all my attention on the house in front of us.

Though it was small, Esme had created a bright, cheery space. From the outside, there was nothing stark or streamlined or minimalistic. Old trees surrounded the yard, creating natural shade all around it. Flower bushes that were not yet in season had been planted around the perimeter of the front of the house, just waiting for their chance to bloom. Kitschy little signs were nailed onto the walls under the porch roof. Bikes were scattered here and there, and there were enough cars parked in the yard to make it look like a used car lot. The turquoise shutters, bright curtains and electric candles in each window, shouted, "This is a home." It made me wonder if there was anything of Esme in her previous house at all.

Edward had asked me to meet him here for Christmas breakfast. It had been way into the early hours of the morning when I'd left him. This gathering was far more important than a simple shared meal, however: _she_ was going to be here. Edward insisted that we do this as soon as possible. When he'd said it, he'd been so nervous and excited, he'd looked like a shy little boy.

I wanted to meet her. So badly. The fear that she'd want nothing to do with me was the only thing that made me hesitate.

"What if she doesn't want me?" I murmured in the silence of the cab, not realizing I'd spoken aloud.

"Bella, she's been waiting her whole life to meet you." Confused, I raised my head to look at him. "It's because of Edward," he said softly. "He read somewhere that kids who are adopted should be told from birth. For her whole life, he's been telling her about her mother, showing her pictures..."

My eyes closed on their own, and I fought down a wave of nausea, my body's first reaction to all the emotional stress. No wonder Edward was so upset last night when we'd first gone into his apartment: he thought I was just giving her up all over again, that Rose's predictions were coming true.

He thought he was going to have to go home to the little girl he loved and somehow tell her that her mother was never coming home.

Charlie continued speaking, his voice shaky. "You should also know, because it will probably come up, we've been giving her gifts and putting your name on them."

"What?" That was something I had not expected.

"Yeah." Charlie grinned through watery eyes. "Those frog boots she was wearing in her Christmas picture? Those were from you. I picked those out. She won't take them off. She insists on wearing them with everything."

"Huh," I said, unable to think of anything to say, still stunned from the new information.

"Well, we can't sit out here all day. Rip the band-aid off, right?" He patted my shoulder; the truck door opened with a loud creak.

I suddenly couldn't feel my limbs. Charlie appeared on the other side of the truck, opening my door for me.

"Come on, Bells. It'll be okay, I promise." He spoke with such assurance. I took a deep breath and forced my body out of the cab. My legs felt like jelly, my knees shaking violently. I tried to calm myself by counting each breath. One... two... three... Ten deep breaths and we were standing in front of a bright red door. The baby I'd wanted so badly lay just on the other side of it.

Nothing would be the same again.

I looked up at Charlie with wary, watery eyes. He put an arm around me and squeezed my shoulder. I fidgeted with the sleeves of my sweater, pulling them down around my wrists while Charlie rang the bell.

Edward was opening the door as soon as the bell rang. My first glimpse of the entrance was of cornflower blue walls and bright red picture frames. I looked around frantically for her, but he pulled me inside and led me toward the closest room, a small half bath, closing the door firmly behind us. Strong arms wrapped around me, holding me close. I breathed in the smell of shampoo and after shave. I wrapped my arms around him, gladly accepting the comfort and warmth from his embrace.

"I just wanted a minute alone with you first. Are you all right?" I laughed, breathless, my eyes already filling with tears. I realized how much I'd missed the gentle, deep tone of his voice. He was always the first one in my corner when we were dating. I'd been a fool to give up so much.

"I honestly don't know. I'm just...I'm terrified," I whispered into his shoulder.

"Bella, she's going to love you. She already loves you."

_We still love you._

The words from his beautiful card rang clearly in my head.

He pulled away from me and his hands slid from my shoulders down to my hands, which he held firmly. He had dark circles under his eyes, proof that he'd slept just as well as I had. "I just need to know something." He seemed to falter, his brow furrowed. "Are you staying?"

His green eyes met mine and my heart broke all over again. The pain I'd put this man through... I thought for a long moment, fighting for the right words to say that would ease his worry.

"I can honestly say that right now, I want to run screaming out the front door." His face fell. "But that's what got us in this mess in the first place. I'm so sorry that I put this burden on you." He looked as though he was going to interrupt, but I continued quickly, "I don't mean...Charlotte." Saying her name made me want to laugh and cry. "I mean all the baggage you've had to carry, the weight on your shoulders of not knowing."

I placed my hands on either side of his face, shocked at my boldness, fueled by the need to tell him exactly where I stood. "I'm not going anywhere. Not now. I'm here for as long as you both want me here."

He breathed a sigh of relief and pulled me into his arms in a fierce hug. "Thank you," he whispered into my hair. "Thank you."

When he finally pulled away, there were tears in his eyes, but the worry lines had disappeared. I knew this couldn't be the end of our conversation, but he said nothing more. He smiled at me, and took my hand, pulling me into the entryway to the living room where it looked like the entire Cullen clan was waiting. The smell of bacon and pancakes filled the entire first floor.

I recognized some of the family immediately. Emmett was grinning at me from across the room. Rosalie sat directly beside him on the sofa, scowling. I wondered when she'd joined the family. She wasn't part of "The Brady Bunch" as Emmett used to say, when Edward and I were together.

Esme rushed to hug me, her apron covered in flour. She smelled like maple syrup. As if no time had passed at all, she wrapped her arms around me and kissed my cheek. "I'm so glad you're here." She sniffled and laughed as she brushed flour from my dark blue shirt.

"She's upstairs playing with her cousins. I'll go get her," Edward said calmly, while my stomach did somersaults. Memories of all those months I'd carried her inside me flooded my thoughts: all those months she grew below my heart, claiming it completely. I nodded and tried to not hyperventilate. Charlie walked up behind me and placed his hands firmly on my shoulders. "It's going to be okay, Bells," he whispered.

The stair case was directly opposite from where I stood leaning against the back of Esme's bright red sofa. Unlike the wide open, grand staircase that decorated Esme's and Carlisle's home, this one was hidden behind a wall. As soon as Edward began the ascent up the stairs, he was hidden from view.

Edward's entire family stood in various places around the small living room, all looking at me expectantly, waiting to see how I would react. Esme moved closer to my side, her hands moving to my arm in a gentle grip. I briefly wondered if it was to prevent me from running again. From my position in the room, I could no longer see Edward as he began to walk up the stairs, but I could hear every word he spoke. Silence surrounded the room so completely, I could hear the faucet in the kitchen sink release a slow drip.

"Charlie!" he called as he walked up the steps. "Can you come down here please, baby?"

I looked back at my dad questioningly and was surprised to see him blushing. He shrugged his shoulders. Charlotte – Charlie. He'd named her after my dad? Had he done that for my benefit? Edward's voice captivated me as he called out to our child. I was once again heartbreakingly thankful that, no matter how messed up the circumstances, he'd managed to raise her.

"Coming, Daddy."

At the sound of her little voice, my hand flew to my mouth. Esme rubbed her hand up and down my arm comfortingly. Charlie's hold on my shoulders tightened just a little. From behind me I heard Emmett like a little kid in a candy store saying, "I can't believe this is really happening." Esme gently shushed him from beside me.

I heard two sets of steps coming toward us, but they stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "Sit down with me for a minute," Edward said gently. I wondered if he knew his entire family could hear every word he said. From the silence around me, I imagined he must know. I remembered him telling me once that in a family so large, there were no secrets. He'd been telling the truth.

"Don't worry, you're not in trouble," he said, laughing softly. He paused for a moment as though he were thinking over what to say. "I have another Christmas present for you."

My legs began to shake.

I heard her gasp excitedly. "What is it? Is it what I asked Santa for?"

I heard Edward let out a long, shaky breath. Esme let out a soft, "Oh!" beside me.

"Yeah, baby, it is."

A long moment passed and it all began to sink in. The hand that wasn't clamped tightly over my mouth reached blindly for Charlie's on my shoulder. I held on to his hand for dear life, letting his strength ground me. I could feel the blood rushing in my ears.

"Is my mama here?" she asked. I heard a muffled sob and realized it was my own. I fell to my knees as Edward rounded the corner, a little hand held in his. Sniffles carried to my ears from various places around the room.

She walked shyly behind Edward, and I caught a glimpse of soft brown hair and a gentle face and my world fell apart. Love, powerful and all-consuming coursed through me like a tidal wave.

She was beautiful.

Seeing her picture had been a completely different, detached experience from seeing her in person. The photographer hadn't captured the intelligent light behind her eyes, or the reddish tint to her hair. Long eyelashes framed her dark eyes, and she wore a long, flowy, pale pink dress that made her look like something from a fairy tale.

She spotted me, and stopped in her tracks. Edward looked down at her, his brow furrowed. My breath held in my lungs. She tugged on his hand and he leaned closer to her as she whispered something in his ear. He smiled down at her, responding softly with, "I think she'd like that."

She seemed to pay no attention to anyone else in the room, her entire focus on my face. There was so much intelligence behind those dark brown eyes, as we studied each other. _Please, God, let her still want me_, I begged to the heavens as tears fell from my eyes.

My entire life before seemed to lead to one solitary moment. She looked as though she wasn't sure whether to be excited or sad. I watched her eyes light up when she walked into the room, and a frown appeared just as suddenly. Edward watched her intently the whole time, looking as though he were ready to scoop her up and carry her away: her own personal protector.

With no warning, she let go of Edward's hand and sprinted the short distance toward me, throwing her arms around my neck.

I fell apart.

All the heartache of seven years melted away and was replaced with the fierce and powerful need to protect her. Love that I'd never known before, and the anxiety of knowing I was responsible for another life rushed through me. Sobbing and shaking, I held her to me, kissing every inch of her face that I could reach as she clung to me with all the strength in her small body. "I love you," I whispered over and over into her ear. "I love you so much."

I looked up at Edward. "Thank you," I said, brokenly. Charlotte drew back from my arms and seized my attention. Tears had fallen down her cheeks, and she stared at me, far more serious than a child her age should be. "Are you staying for a long time?" she whispered, and my heart broke. Unable to speak, I nodded and clutched her to me again. Her arms tightened around my neck in response and I realized it hadn't just been myself or Edward who'd been hurt in all of this.

I looked up at Edward through tear-filled eyes. He looked as though he wanted to join us on the floor, but hesitated. A pained look crossed his face, and he was clearly fighting back his own tears. I wished I knew what he was thinking.

The sentiment he'd written in the card suddenly spoke to my heart, the truth and meaning behind the simple message jarring my very soul.

_We still love you._

_We still love you,_ even though you never return any of our letters.

_We still love you_, even though you abandoned us.

_We still love you_, even if you don't love us back.

I held my daughter tightly as I whispered promise after promise that I'd never leave her again. I saw the fear and sorrow in Edward's eyes and wished I could take it all away, hating myself for ever putting it there in the first place. I swore to myself that I would never leave this place again. Even if Edward decided he didn't want to be with me in the same way as before, I wouldn't leave her. Nothing, short of the Devil himself, was going to wrench my baby from my arms, now that I finally had her.

And another truth rang inside my head and made my blood run hot and cold:

I never wanted to see my mother again.


	8. Patches of Light and Shadow

I apologize for the delay with this chapter. Real life has been eating away all of my writing time. Hopefully, the next chapters will have less of a delay. Thank you to those who are still reading and reviewing!

Also, I got the idea for parts of this story from an article written about a man who's child was given up for adoption without his consent. Upon further research, I learned how very few rights a father actually has toward his children. Everything that Edward lists as things that he "could have done" to get their baby are things that I picked up straight from a Florida website concerning the father's rights. It's very sad, actually. Good news, though: the dad from the article that I mentioned got his daughter back after a very lengthy court process.

This chapter was edited by Twilightmom505, who is awesome! Thank you! PTB betas are the best!

And now on to the chapter!

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Joy and happiness exploded like fireworks inside my chest making, me almost giddy. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt such intense happiness as I laughed and cried and finally held the baby that I'd longed for for so long. After seven years of torment, my world made sense again. Charlotte was hesitant to remove her arms from around my neck, finally letting go when Esme began ushering everyone to the table for breakfast. I wasn't ready to give her up yet, though, and apparently neither was she, asking Edward if she could sit at the grown-up table instead of the smaller one set up in the living room for the kids. I was surprised at how many of them there were. I wondered how many were Esme's new foster children; I was completely in awe of her beautiful and loving heart.

My happiness waned a bit throughout the meal each time I looked over at Edward. Gone was the almost boyish smile he'd worn on his face when he'd asked me to come to Esme's. His hunched shoulders and blank expression closed him off from nearly everyone in the room. His beautiful eyes were downcast and sullen, and though he tried to put on a good face for our daughter every time she glanced his way, I could tell that something was troubling him; it made my chest ache. I wanted to put my arms around him and ask him what was wrong, but I'd lost the right to do so a long time ago. I found myself mourning the relationship we'd once had. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him until we were under the same roof, breathing the same air.

I missed him terribly.

Charlotte seemed to take her cues from him as she became increasingly reserved and shy, watching me when she thought I wasn't looking, staring at me through long lashes. Her brow was furrowed as if she were trying to solve a mystery or a puzzle. Though she looked just like me, she definitely had many of Edward's mannerisms.

Adding to my sudden anxiety was the confusion that ensued from having two people at the dining table with the same first name. The entire family, other than myself, seemed to have no problem with this. Charlie, my dad, knew exactly when Esme was referring to him in conversation, and Charlie, my daughter, answered anytime Edward said her name. I supposed it was all in the tone: Edward would never say my father's name sternly just before telling him to eat his eggs. Either way, it was one more instance that made me feel even further set-apart and disconnected from the people around me.

I came to Esme's home with only one thought in mind: meeting my daughter. I hadn't considered how I would feel being with his family again. It seemed as though they were constantly watching my actions, each taking turns giving me the look of pity that I'd grown accustomed to from my mom and Phil. Here it felt different though, worse. Of course it was worse. These people should hate me, not welcome me into their home. I wondered if Edward had asked them to be kind to me today. The thought made me feel out of place. They talked about daily life, and what they were studying, and the important tasks that they were accomplishing in their careers. I had nothing to offer to their conversations. I tried to not let it bother me.

Some of them I recognized from years ago: Emmett, Jasper, Celia, Michael—they were just kids when I'd left Forks; now they were all adults, my peers. Most of them were looking at me as if I was some sad, lost puppy they'd been asked to take in for the holidays. Save for Rosalie, who when she decided to give me the time of day, only did so to glare are me from across the table. Emmett kept giving me goofy grins, though, cracking jokes in uncomfortable silences as if there wasn't a large elephant in the room with my name stamped on it. Someone on the outside would have thought he didn't have a clue as to what was happening around him. I knew better.

"Bella," Charlie, my dad, said from across the table. He was sitting beside Edward's teenaged brother, Michael, who he'd just had a lengthy conversation about sports teams and managers. I'd been caught sneaking another glance at Edward as he pushed his food around on his plate. My plate was just as full.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Charlie asked.

"No," I answered apprehensively. "I don't have plans." He must have already known that though.

"Good. It's settled then. You and Charlie can have some girl time," he said, seemingly out of nowhere, as if just settling a matter that I couldn't recall being discussed. Esme glanced at Edward with worried motherly eyes.

"What's happening tomorrow?" I asked, hesitant to overstep whatever invisible bounds that might have been in place but equal parts excited and fearful at the prospect of spending alone time with my daughter.

"I work a double," Edward said, taking a sip of his coffee.

No one said anything; for a long moment, all that was heard was the sound of metal clinking on china, and a peal of muffled laughter cascading through the open dining room door from the kids' table.

I was about to turn to Edward and tell him that it was fine, I understood his hesitance. As heartbreaking as it was, I realized he was just trying to protect her from a mother who was not completely well. I couldn't just click my heels together or take some magic pill that would make me the person I was before. Edward must have seen that somewhere in the hours between finding me in the pouring rain and sitting with me at the breakfast table.

"Okay," Edward finally said. I looked up, stunned. Our eyes met, and I felt the same old feeling of butterflies that I'd almost forgotten. Seven years and my body still had the same reaction to him. I blushed and looked down at my plate forcing myself to take a bite of eggs.

I looked down at Charlotte, who was staring at her plate, hoping to see her reaction. Her silence was unnerving. I wanted to know what was going through her head. Edward reminded her, for the fifth time, to eat her breakfast.

She turned to Edward and asked, "Is Mama going to live with us now?"

Edward choked on his mouthful of pancakes, trying to recover by taking gulps of coffee which only seemed to make it worse. I looked to my dad who shared a look with Esme, both unsure what to say to her very honest question. In the end, Charlie, my dad, finally spoke.

"No, she's going to live with me just like you live with your daddy."

Charlie, my daughter, frowned and said, "But other kids' moms and dads live together."

I looked down at my daughter's sad face, wanting to wrap my arms around her and soothe her.

But I doubted myself—doubted my ability to make things better, to play the mother role, consumed by a gut-wrenching guilt that I was the one to put the melancholic expression on her sweet face to begin with—and then the moment was over. In a small voice, she asked Esme if she could be excused and walked out of the room, her glass teetering on her plate as she carefully carried both away. Edward quickly followed her, leaving two empty seats next to my own, leaving me feeling exposed. I fought back the urge to try to cover my face with my hands using them instead to wring my napkin into knots in my lap.

A long awkward moment passed.

"Can you imagine how horrible it would be if it actually started raining men?" Emmett asked from across the table. Charlie cracked up and everyone else quickly followed. Rosalie made a noise of disgust, her head dropping to her hands, murmuring, "Emmett!" Esme threw her napkin at him, which made it only halfway across the table and landed in the butter dish, causing more laughter.

The tension was effectively lifted leaving the room the bright, sunny place that it was when I'd first walked into it, partially obscuring the shadows that were residing within my own heart. The glimpse of joy that I used to know in Esme's old home was shining all around in the laughter of the people that gathered, making me realize that it wasn't the space that created happiness but the people who lived within it. I dared to hope that one day I'd have a home that was as happy as this one. Emmett looked over at me and winked; I grinned back.

Amid the sudden sound of laughter and happiness, I heard the bright tones of a piano from the other room. I turned my head to look out of the dining room door behind me. Edward and our daughter were sitting side-by-side on the piano bench. I stood up and walked into the room, sidestepping the kid's table and silently stood behind them. I was mesmerized by their closeness, watching in silence while he showed her chords and helped her when her fingers didn't quite reach the keys. He was teaching her to play chopsticks. Charlie walked up behind me.

"He's a good dad, Bells," he said quietly, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. I nodded, running my hand across my eyes. I was so tired of crying.

"You'll be a great mom too."

I sighed, and placed my hand over his.

I hoped he was right.

Throughout the day, I watched them together, envious as they interacted with each other, sharing hugs and kisses as she clung to him as if he was her lifeline. I finally had to leave the noise and chaos of the house, instead choosing to watch from the porch outside, sitting at the corner of the window, spying on the family that was mine—but wasn't. It was the closest to Purgatory I could ever imagine. My chest ached with each breath, having nothing to do with the frigid air that blew out of my lungs like smoke curling through the rapidly darkening sky. I tried to convince myself that one day I would belong in their perfect picture of a loving family, not of the nuclear whole, but maybe just a part of it.

The front door opened, and I brushed the tears from my cold cheeks. Edward took off his coat and laid it over the top of mine. His hands lingered for a moment longer than was necessary, but I probably only imagined it.

"Hey," he said, looking over my shoulder at the scene inside, frowning.

"Hey," I said back, lamely.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I'm not used to so many people," I said. It wasn't a complete lie; it had been months since I'd been around anyone but Mom and Phil, and even then, I'd done my best to be on my own at every moment possible, always escaping any conversation or confrontation that could possibly arise. Only being 'present' long enough to appear normal and make everyone happy before I could hide again.

He stood silently beside me.

"Um...listen," I said. "If you're not comfortable with me watching Charlie tomorrow, I don't have to—"

"No, you should have time with her." He let out a long breath. "Esme is constantly telling me that I'm far too overprotective with her. It's not...you..."

"It's not you, it's me?" I said jokingly, trying to make light of the situation, letting him off the hook. I could tell he was uncomfortable, and I was afraid of where his sentence was going to end. I wasn't naive enough to think we'd never have the conversation about how messed up our whole situation was. It just seemed like the wrong time and place.

He smiled at me, but his eyes were serious. "Something like that," he said, and then he hesitated, looking at me for a long moment. Butterflies erupted in my stomach again. "I want you to be a part of everything. I don't want you to feel like you have to stay on the sidelines."

"Thank you," I said quietly, gratefully.

"Do...do you think you could come over to the apartment later?"

I started, looking up at him in surprise.

"I have a present for you. I didn't want to give it to you in front of everyone."

At the mention of a gift, I mentally cringed.

"I know you don't like receiving gifts, but...well, I didn't pay for this one, so I figured you'd give me a pass this once." He grinned once again, shoving his hand through his messy hair, looking very much like the boy that I fell in love with so long ago. I missed him so much.

"Yeah, I can do that." I said, trying desperately to keep my unchecked tears at bay, forcing a smile.

"Anyway, it's freezing out here. You should come inside. Emmett just dragged out the karaoke machine, which is always amusing."

"I remember," I said laughing, handing him back his coat. His warm, calloused fingers grazed mine, making me shiver.

"Edward, Bella, get in here! I'm about to bust out some Dixie Chicks!" Emmett yelled from inside the house.

Edward turned his head and said, "Only kid-appropriate songs, okay, Emmett?"

I heard Emmett mumble, as much as Emmett could mumble, "Yeah, yeah, killing all my fun."

"I don't want to have to explain 'Earl had to die' lyrics to a seven-year-old." Edward said to me, laughing.

The beginning notes began to play, and I looked at Edward warily. A song that was popular when Edward and I were still in high school began to play. I had a sudden fearful image of being pushed in front of the watching room by Emmett while he handed me a microphone.

"I don't have to do this, do I?"

"No, definitely not." he said, laughing as we started walking back into the house together.

I took one last backward glance into the yard and spotted a bike lying against the corner of the porch railing. It was pink and white with streamers that had seen better days. The frame was beginning to rust. I recognized it from my past, from endless days of riding around and around Charlie's house, pretending I was a race car driver, or a queen on my coronation trail; sometimes I'd tie my plastic baby stroller to it and pretend I was a mom driving to the grocery store. In that old broken bike, I saw the beauty and innocence of childhood, the promise of adventure.

That bike had probably sat at Charlie's house for years without being used. I imagined he'd brought it over here to let Charlotte play with it. Knowing that it was still being used gave me a feeling of hope. It was worn and somewhat broken, like me, but it still had life left in it. It was still loved. I was a lot like that bike: broken and rusted. But it wasn't completely out of the game and neither was I.

"Is everything okay?" Edward asked, probably wondering why I was still standing out in the cold, staring at an old toy.

"Yeah." I said, smiling. I turned back to him and the look on my face must have sparked something in him. He broke out in a huge grin and pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around my bulky coat. I relished in the feel of his strength and his warmth.

Everything was going to be okay.

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Arriving at his home the second time felt completely different, though I still had the crazy flutterings in my stomach, I wasn't as afraid. My knees still shook when I climbed out of my truck but my footsteps were less faltering, steadier. The most important difference was the giant hole that I'd carried around in the center of my broken heart: it felt like it was finally healing. I smiled to myself as I walked up to the glass front door of the dimly lit bar where Edward had asked me to meet him.

My smile fell when I heard the music as I opened the door. I heard the notes and I froze, my heart remembering them a split second before my brain could process the emotion that was suddenly flooding through me. He was playing my song, my lullaby, the one he'd given to me when we were together. I felt each note rush through my system like a tidal wave, threatening to knock me to my knees.

Through my blurred vision, I spotted him. He sat at a simple upright piano that was far less majestic than the baby grand that Carlisle had bought for him so long ago, confirming every belief that it wasn't the caliber of the instrument that made the music, but the player. I watch him as he swayed with each note, oblivious of being watched, lost in the moment. The song that I knew morphed and changed and became something completely different: a lament. Every line and chord rang out, saying, "That beautiful thing that we had is now over." Each pump of my heart that flowed through my veins sang along in melody, and I agonized over each heartbeat, mourning the loss of him, of what we once were. I ached to touch him, to comfort him, but more than that, to make him stop playing.

I realized I was watching a moment that was meant to be private, but I couldn't make myself turn away. The lyric, "Killing Me Softly" had never meant so much as in that moment. The notes slowed and ended, the last low chord hovering in the air, beautiful and haunting. I looked around and behind me, wondering if I could sneak out just as quietly as I'd come in.

"Bella," he said, sounding as startled to see me as I had been to hear him playing my song. I jumped and tried to nonchalantly wipe the tears that had run unchecked down my cheeks. He swallowed thickly and looked at me with pain-filled eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm early. I should have knocked." I said hurriedly, inwardly cringing. In that moment, I wanted to run into his arms and sob and beg him to take me back: back to that beautiful living room, dressed all in white, where he played the song for me for the first time, back to the meadow, where we lay an exhausted, tangled mess while he hummed it in my ear. Instead, I stood awkwardly at the door with my hands balled up in fists in my coat pockets.

"It's okay." He spoke softly, quietly. We stood in an odd silence for a long moment, the energy between us filled with sadness and yearning. Or maybe that was just on my part. I dug my fingernails into my palms, fighting back the instinct to put my arms around him, to touch him.

He ran a hand through his hair, cleared his throat and said, "Um...right, sorry. Your gift. I'll just...go get it." He gestured behind him to the long bar; the lights above it were the only illumination in the dark room. It made the large room look gloomy with too many shadows. As if he was reading my mind, he flipped some switches making more lights come on around me. I walked slowly over to a stool and sat down. I hooked my feet into the slats between the wooden rungs, feeling very much like an awkward kid.

"Where's Charlie?" I asked, a little worried that he'd left her alone in their apartment.

"Oh, she's upstairs sleeping. Here." He handed me a video monitor that he'd been carrying around in the back pocket of his jeans. I smiled as I looked at her tiny image on the small screen, completely lost in sleep. Her hair was wild all over her pillow, hanging in her face. She held her hands under her cheeks like an angel as her mouth hung open.

"I like to be able to keep an eye on her when I'm working down here," he said, motioning to the monitor in my hand. "I told you I was overprotective. It took me years to get to this point. She's like clockwork, though. Down at eight and not up again until seven. Except for the occasional nightmare, she's a heavy sleeper." He sighed. "Which is a good thing, living above this place." I imagined what it must be like in the bar on busy nights, loud and raucous and chaotic.

I smiled slightly, nodding my head. I couldn't help but wish for more for her. The little sleeping princess that I held in my hand should be living in a castle, or at the very least, a house like Charlie's.

"Do you own the bar, then?" I asked, setting the monitor on the shiny bar top. I couldn't take my hand away from it, though—or my eyes. It felt like an odd question to ask, as if I was just getting to know a stranger. I looked up at him, at the man he'd become, and realized we were strangers now. That familiarity that we once knew was gone. I had glimpsed it here and there throughout the day, but there was so much that I didn't know about him now. Too much time had passed. I felt like a fool.

"Yeah. It's a family business. Not my first choice, but...I sort of fell into it."

_That's my fault,_ I thought as I ran my finger along the edge of the small monitor, wishing for the millionth time that I could change things for him, for both of us. Somehow make his world the one it should have been.

_Get a grip, Bella. Don't start crying again._

"Anyway, this place was up for sale, and I needed somewhere to stay. It worked." He smiled at me. My stomach flipped again. "This is yours," he said, handing me a box wrapped in wrapped with white paper. There were pink and blue paper with hearts drawn all over it. The red bow was already half untied. I wanted to burn the beautiful thing into my memory to hold onto for years to come.

"Are you going to open it?" he asked, a slightly teasing smile on his face.

Something halfway between a laugh and a cry escaped my lips. "I want to just look at it for a minute," I said, running the risk of sounding like a crazy person. I was a crazy person—but it was the first gift from my daughter. I wasn't ready for that experience to be over.

And I felt terrible. I hadn't thought to buy gifts for anyone. What sort of person does that? Fortunately, my dad had saved the day and bought things for my daughter with my name next to his on the tag. Apparently, that was a tradition, one that I'd been unknowingly apart of since the day she was born. I tried not to dwell on that.

"Well, then, do you want something to eat? I have some frozen wings in the kitchen."

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry." I saw a disapproving look on his face; I could tell he was holding back, he wasn't saying what he was thinking. It made me oddly happy, the fact that I could still somewhat read him, but I'd already had that discussion with my dad twice today. He changed the subject.

"So, what do you think you girls will do tomorrow?" He seemed genuinely happy about the prospect of me spending time with our daughter. It made me smile.

"I don't know." My brown furrowed. "What do seven-year-old little girls like to do?"

He laughed, "Well, she has quite an extensive My Little Pony collection. I'm sure she'd happily show each one to you, including all their names and background history. Then there's the DVD collection. She has some of them memorized."

"Wow," I said, genuinely stunned. "I remember you saying that TV was just an idle waste of time. What happened?"

"Guilty! I did say that. That was my teenaged, pious, know-it-all, pre-kid self. The new, dad-needs-to-take-a-shower-without-being-interrupt ed self did some soul-searching and decided it wasn't so bad," he said, jokingly. "I went a lot of days without, in the beginning. Esme threatened to shoot me with the water hose."

I laughed and then looked down at the box I held, curling the ribbon through my fingers. I would have liked to see him with that way, a new inexperienced father of a newborn. "Oh, if I could turn back the hands of time." I said more to myself than to him. He heard me and placed a hand over mine on the box. The sudden warmth made me want to leap through my skin.

"It's not your fault." he said, his tone and look very serious. I wanted to believe him, if it were not for my own guilty conscience telling me otherwise. I let out a long breath and changed the subject, more than a little disappointed when the warmth of his large hand left my smaller one.

"I guess I've stalled enough," I sighed, turning the box around, trying to find the best place to open it without ripping the paper. I'd had so much taken from me. I was going to save every single scrap of this. Edward tried to hide his smile behind his hand, resting his elbow on the table, as I gently peeled the tape away from the paper. I gave him a pseudo warning look and then smiled back—another beautiful glimpse of 'us.' Once I'd finally removed all the wrapping, I placed it to the side and opened the lid to the box. My smile faded and my shaking hand flew to my chest.

"You're giving me this?" I felt the tears pricking at the backs of my eyes again, for what had to be the hundredth time that day—it was a losing battle. Inside the box was an album, simple yet beautiful with pink ribbon across the front that was tied in a bow holding it closed. On the front was a small frame with a photo of my baby, the one that I never got to see, all wrinkled and tiny. She was dressed in a white, frilly gown with a matching bonnet on her head. I stared at her beautiful face in astonishment and sadness. My breathing faltered. I should have had memories of this image. Instead I was looking at someone else's memory, staring at a photograph of a baby who I didn't know.

"This should have been yours to begin with." he said finally. I looked away from the album to meet his eyes. A long moment passed. So much should have been said, could have been, but we both let it slip through our fingers like sand: a moment lost. Finally, he looked away from my face and down at the photo and said quietly, "I had copies of all of them made. These are the ones you should have received."

I placed my face in my hands. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to see all the things that I'd missed, view the happiness and joy from others eyes when it should have been my through my own. It's a strange thing, the paradigm shift that occurred the moment I'd discovered I was pregnant with her. I'd never wanted to be a parent before, but I suddenly found myself longing for all of the sleepless nights, and bath times, dirty diapers, but most of all, the memories that were a parent's right when they had children. Edward was beside me then, putting his arm around my shoulders.

"I can't do this," I whimpered.

"We'll do it together," he said, softly. I nodded, my lip quivering as I watched him untie the ribbon and open the book to the first page which displayed a picture of Edward holding our baby in his arms. A look of awe and adoration and a tiny bit of fear was on his young face as he gazed down at a small infant with a mass of dark hair. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"She's so small," I said, sniffling. "How much did she weigh? And she had so much hair." I marveled, laughing through tears, remembering all the heartburn I'd had while pregnant with her. That old-wives tale must have been true after all.

"She was seven pounds, two ounces. She did have a lot of hair. It looked just like yours. She lost it all though, pretty soon after." I looked at him in shock and he smiled. "It's okay, that's just one of those things that happens sometimes with babies." I nodded, lamenting the fact that he knew what was normal and what wasn't with infants and I hadn't a clue.

"Was she healthy?" I was afraid to ask, fearful that anything I might have done, or not done, could have affected her negatively.

"Yeah. She was perfect." He smiled at me. Moisture welled-up in his eyes.

"How did you get her?" I'd been wanting to ask the question all day but had been afraid to until that point. The weight of his arm around my shoulders gave me confidence. It felt as though we were in our own little bubble for a moment. I tried to push aside the knowledge that this was only temporary—one more moment that I could add to my collection of memories from the day, stored in a tiny bottle in my own mind. My own happy thoughts. I felt like I was going insane.

"Esme," he said, simply. "She was amazing. I have never seen anyone work so tirelessly for anything in my life. She took care of all of us all day, cooked, cleaned, and was on the phone for hours in between, calling everyone she could possibly think of to call. After five adoptions of her own, she had a lot of connections."

"But...Renee," _I couldn't stand to call her Mom_, "said that I was giving the baby to a loving family. If she was just going to give her to you, why would she say that? Why wouldn't she have told me?"

"I don't know, Bella." His hand moved up and down my arm in a comforting gesture. "I don't understand any of it." He paused for a moment, lost in thought. "Do you think you'll ever ask her?"

"No." I said, quickly, determined. "At least...not anytime soon."

He nodded and turned his attention back to the album.

Something from our conversation the day before suddenly came to the forefront. "I mentioned adoption yesterday and you didn't correct me."

He cringed sightly. "Yeah. That's because there was an adoption." He paused. "Esme adopted Charlotte when she was born." He looked at me sideways, gauging my response. I looked away, tried to pretend that that knowledge didn't bother me as much as it did. Esme was my daughter's mother. How could I ever compete with that? I couldn't be half the woman that Esme was, even if I'd kept her, even if I'd stayed in Forks.

"But...why?"

He let out a long breath, hurt evident all over his face.

"If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay," I said, quietly.

"No. It's just...old wounds, I guess."

He laughed softly, humorlessly. My breath caught in my throat. I waited in silence for a long moment, saying nothing. I was afraid to ask for more details, but I wanted to know everything, every detail of what he'd been through, even if it pained me to hear it.

"It turned out, I had no rights." he said, finally, the last words came out in a blur. "I mean, I probably could have had them if I'd done a number of things in advance, but my lack of money and the distance made it really difficult. The fact that I was underage didn't help things either."

He saw my confusion. "If I had acknowledged I was the father from the very beginning, paid your medical bills, been there for the birth... but I didn't know that you were pregnant until months had passed, and Carlisle refused to give me money to pay for anything. I got a job, and I sent every paycheck to your address, but they kept coming back, 'return to sender.' Renee refused to answer my calls. She said you didn't want to hear from me. She tried to convince me once that I wasn't the father, but I knew better. I knew you."

I blushed.

"Eventually, I realized there was nothing else I could do. I was losing you and our baby." He took a deep breath and swallowed thickly. "In the meantime, though, Esme was doing everything she could to prevent it from happening. She defied Carlisle and hired a lawyer and used her influence with the social workers that she knew. Days would pass that seemed like months, and still we weren't making any headway. I was never sure if it was going to work out. I was running out of options, and Esme wasn't getting the feedback she'd hoped for. They were all saying that, in the end, it would be your decision. You would only need to file a petition with the court saying that I hadn't been supporting you financially, or that I'd abandoned our child. It wouldn't have mattered if it was true or not."

He stopped talking for several heartbeats as I watched him in silence, my mind reeling. I hated myself for putting him through this. If I'd only stayed...

"Finally, Esme had had enough. She pawned a very expensive ring that Carlisle had given her for their tenth wedding anniversary and offered Renee a bribe. I asked her not to. I felt horrible that she had to give up something so special because of me, but she insisted that me having my child was more important than a piece of jewelry."

I watched him as he struggled not to break down, my own heart cracking and threatening to break into pieces as well.

_A bribe._

My mind was reeling over that piece of information. She'd accepted a bribe. None of my pleading and begging had meant anything, but she accepted a payoff? I couldn't process any of it, couldn't fathom who, or what, my mother had become. In numb silence, I sat, barely breathing, wondering what had happened that would turn my mother into such a cruel person. It was as if we were talking about someone else, some stranger who I never knew. My heart rallied against it, screaming that this was injustice: she had been so good to me, taking care of me, never hurting me my whole life. Talking about her as if she was a criminal—even thinking it was so fundamentally against everything I knew of her. It seemed so wrong.

"She also hired a private investigator, hoping that she could find something to use against either Phil or Renee to convince them to let us have the baby."

I had a difficult time picturing Esme, the saint, doing something so calculated.

"She did find some little things, but in the end, we think Renee just got tired of fighting. Now that I know she was keeping it all from you, I think that she must have been afraid you would find out something. In our desperation, we were relentless. I sent three letters a day, some of them certified to your name. I don't know how they didn't get to you."

I bit my lip. His eyes landed on my mouth as he continued speaking.

"One of Esme's closest friends, who's a social worker, traveled to Florida to pick her up. I wanted to go, but everyone thought it would be a bad idea. I think they were worried for me, of what I'd do. They were afraid I'd lose my temper or cause a scene that would change your mind about letting me have her. I admit, I wanted to."

My eyes met Edward's; all of the sorrow and desperation from the past clearly evident in his sea green eyes. The mother who had taken such good care of me and loved me my whole life... Maybe it hadn't been me that she'd been trying to hurt. Maybe she'd wanted to hurt Edward.

"I'm so sorry." It was paltry and simple, but I couldn't articulate what I truly wanted to say. I wished I was musical, capable of putting every emotion into song like he could. Instead, I sat in silence, hating myself, hating my circumstances, wishing with all my heart that something could have been done to prevent this tragedy. If I'd never left— If I'd only told him.

"Bella, I don't hold any ill will toward you. I want us to be friends in this, to work together. I don't want to keep you and Charlie from each other. She needs you."

It took everything in me to not throw my arms around him then. I was angry at Renee, angry that she'd taken away not only my daughter, but the chance of ever being anything to the only love I'd ever known. My past, present and future had been altered by her conniving hands. Edward was graciously allowing me into her life but not into his. _Friends._ The word in such a context sounded unnatural and wrong. We were never meant to be only friends... Once upon a time, anyway.

"She told me you didn't want to have anything to do with it," I said, barely a whisper. I wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if I needed to give him more incentive to hate my mother. Maybe it would help him to understand my side of things. I wasn't sure why I said it, but I immediately regretted it. His face turned bright red and then very pale. I reached for his hand, but he turned away. I watched him take several deep breaths, composing himself. When he finally turned back toward me, he looked haunted. He said nothing else, but placed his arm back around my shoulder lightly, turning the next page in the album. For a short moment, he became the Edward from this morning again, withdrawn and distant.

We went through page after page together as he seemed to shake off whatever had been bothering him. I listened with rapt attention as he told stories of all of her first moments: how she would never go to sleep unless there was music playing, how she wouldn't talk for months and they'd worried she was delayed, only to realize she'd just been spending all of that time observing and listening. How he'd taught her to read a year before she started Kindergarten. She'd informed her teachers they'd spelled her name wrong. It turned out she had preferred "Charlie" to Charlotte. She adored her Grandpa Charlie. I told him she had very good taste.

The next hour was spent going through memories that weren't my own, images of my daughter's childhood that I never belonged in. My emotions were on roller coaster as each new image rehashed old pain and loss, and each new story that Edward told brought new feelings of joy and pride. By the time we'd reached the last page, my heart was simultaneously aching and extremely full.

Before I knew it, it was almost midnight. I knew he had to be up early for work.

"Do you want me to come over here first thing, save Esme a trip?" It didn't make sense to make her drive over first thing in the morning when I could do it myself. I wanted the responsibility. I wanted to be the parent.

"Are you sure? It's really early," he said, yawning. It was contagious; I yawned too. We both smiled.

"Yeah. I want to be here," I said.

"Okay. I leave for work at 6:30."

I picked up the album in my arms and my purse and got up to head toward the door. I stopped and turned toward him once more. "Thank you, for this," I said, clutching the album closer to my chest.

"Bella." He grabbed my hand and took the album gently from me, setting it down on the bar stool where I'd been sitting. "Thank you...for having her."

I could feel the tears welling up behind my eyes. His hands were warm, gentle. I missed those hands that used to hold mine as we were walking down the street. I missed them when he held me close and they were splayed across my back. Their warmth used to give me comfort, now they brought painful memories and heartache, but I wasn't ready for him to let go of me.

"Thank you for taking care of her, for loving her when I couldn't." My voice broke. "And for this," I said, gesturing toward the album with my free hand. "And for letting me be a part of her life. Thank you."

He pulled me toward him and leaned his head forward, resting his forehead on mine. I could feel his breath on my face. I wanted him to kiss me.

"I want us to be partners in this, Bella—friends," he said for the second time that night; his words were soft, almost a whisper. I looked up to meet his eyes. They were warm, burning, more than friendly. Instinct, and the ache of missing a physical connection with him, made me lean closer and he made no move to stop me. A small, nagging voice was telling me that I was making a mistake. Why should I have any right to try to reclaim anything I'd had with him in the past? I gave him up, left him. I couldn't just come back, and in a couple of days, earn back what I'd so completely broken: his trust, his love.

It had been over for seven years, and what had we had really? A high school crush and a first time together? Most guys would just consider that water under the bridge and move on. Edward wasn't like most guys, though. I knew I needed to just back away and let him move on, though, like he'd planned to at the bonfire with Jacob and his friends. I moved away, even though it was painful to do so. Edward quickly placed a hand on either side of my face, holding me still and began to close the small space between us. The butterflies in my stomach were in full force, and my heart was pounding, my body was a nervous ball of energy. His lips were so close to mine; I could feel his breath brush gently across my mouth.

Then the screaming began.

I jerked upright. He moved away from me quickly, grabbing the monitor and running out the door and up the stairs. It took me several seconds to catch up to what was happening. By the time I realized that it was Charlotte doing the screaming, Edward was already gone, disappearing quickly through the heavy wooden bar door and up the steps to his apartment.

I ran through the door before it had closed completely and was quick on his heels, stumbling on the wooden steps. I had to catch myself on the railing once so I wouldn't land on my face. He'd left the door wide open and when I'd reached it, the screaming was over, replaced by childish sobs.

I hesitated once I reached the living room. Looking around, I could see that he'd put all of the pictures and mementos back in their proper places. The front of the fridge was full of drawings and coloring pages. I took a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed. When it had been empty, it was terrifying. With it being full and back to normal, it was much more homey, but I had the sense that I didn't belong in it. I didn't like either feeling.

Cautiously, I walked through the small living space to the hallway at the end of the apartment. It was mostly dark except for the warm, soft glow that bled into the living room from my daughter's bedroom. I knew it was hers as soon as I stood in the doorway. Pink was everywhere: the walls, the plastic dollhouse that sat in one corner, the gauzy canopy that hung over her bed, even the comforter and pillows were all drenched in it. I'd never been a fan of the color, but knowing that she loved it made me love it too. Edward was sitting on the bed, holding her in his arms, stroking her hair and singing to her.

"Daddy," she said, her voice cracking, though she still sounded as though she were still half-asleep."I dreamed that Mama left because of me. Is she going to leave?" I nearly doubled over in the doorway, my hand automatically went to my chest, over my heart. I'd never hated myself, or my actions, more.

"No, Baby," he said softly. "That's not going to happen." He looked at me as he spoke, his eyes hard and resolute, as though just saying the words would make them truth. Charlotte, realizing someone else was present, peered over Edward's shoulder at me, and then buried her face in Edward's t shirt in embarrassment.

I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but I wasn't sure if she'd want me to...or if Edward would want me to. Instead I stood silently in the doorway, like a ghost. The knowledge that I didn't belong weighed heavily on me. "The occasional nightmare" is what he'd said.

He stayed with her, rocking her until she finally fell back to sleep. I watched him kiss her forehead, and I backed away from the door and waited in the hallway, making room to let him pass. He wrapped long fingers around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

"Please say you're staying." His eyes looked nearly gray in the half-light that cascading through the doorway from the small room. They were serious, more serious than I'd ever seen them. I knew he wasn't asking me to stay for his sake: he was asking for her's, but for a split second, my breath caught in my throat and the possibilities and "what if's" swam through my head, making me dizzy. I shook my head no, and then nodded, unsure what I was supposed to say. When I finally spoke, my voice came out hoarse and strangled. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

The same look of hurt from earlier in the day was evident, but he nodded and said he'd walk me to my car. I turned to look into her room one more time, watching her sleep. The day hadn't been complete sunshine and roses, but it was more than I'd ever hoped to have, more than I'd ever dreamed of having.

I turned to look in her room one more time, watching her sleep. The day hadn't been complete sunshine and roses, but it was more than I'd ever hoped to have, more than I'd ever dreamed of having. It was naive of me to think that I could back into their lives and be accepted so easily. I vowed to do everything I could to earn Edward's trust.

He walked me to my car uneventfully, leaving me with a quiet "I'll see you in the morning" while he opened my truck door. The exhaustion of the day caught up with me and I barely made it home, wishing I had some caffeine to keep me awake. Charlie was already in his room when I got home. I trudged up the stairs, my feet made of lead and collapsed onto my bed, sound asleep before I'd taken off my jacket and shoes. My dreams were haunted with the mournful notes of a piano.

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